Road Rules Apply
by i-am-your-opus
Summary: "She's expecting you to be there, rushing to greet her with hugs and kisses and love, and the thought tightens something deep in your chest. For a second you consider forgetting it all, consider running into her arms and pulling her neck until her lips meet yours and not letting them part until morning." Future!AU. Angst/Break-up.
1. Chapter One

**A/N:** I may do a sequel or make this a multi-chapter, if there's any interest. Reviews are appreciated!

Listen to Shirts and Gloves by Dashboard Confessional to hear the inspiration for this fic.

I'm like one thousand percent sure there are going to be a lot of typos in this, but I can't seem to pick them out myself. Let me know on here or on my Tumblr (iam-your-opus. tumblr. com) if you find any and I'll be happy to change them.

**A/N2:** Since this is getting more attention than I had thought it would, I'm gonna take this opportunity to shamelessly plug my other fic, Several Ways to Die Trying. It's a Superhero!AU, Brittana style.

* * *

"**It seems our day keeps falling on a leap year…"**

Santana

* * *

You and Brittany move in together at the beginning of your sophomore year.

You think it's the happiest day of your life so far when she shows up at the new apartment with a box in her hands and a smile on her face. You had gotten there a few minutes before she had, and grin when you open the door to her on the other side.

"You don't have to knock, baby," you laugh. "This is _our _apartment."

She smiles up at you shyly, and you pull the box from her hands, leaning in for a kiss as you do so, knowing you could never be more in love with anyone than you are with her in that moment.

* * *

You quickly fall into a routine with each other. Britt showers in the mornings and you shower at night. She does her homework on the couch in the evenings and you sit in your bed, Indian style, typing essays on your laptop. You meet her for lunch every day between classes, and some days Kurt and Rachel even join you.

Something changed between you and your former classmates when you all moved out to New York. You and Kurt aren't close on an emotional level, but you get along just fine and have fun together. Rachel, on the other hand, has somehow become one of the only people you can talk to besides Brittany.

You and Brittany work well together in your small apartment. You make dinner most nights, but Brittany cooks on the nights where she doesn't have rehearsal. Her meals are usually simple, but the way she serves them to you, like she's so proud that she was able to cook something you like, makes whatever she cooks your favorite meal no matter what it is.

You're both pretty busy, but you make time for each other. Wednesday nights you watch television (though the one thing you do consistently bicker about is what channel you should stay on—Brittany likes cartoons, you like reality TV and crime shows). She nearly always wins, but you don't mind because she never fails to make up for it later, when you're trying to fall asleep and her hands slip low against your stomach.

Brittany spends some nights out late practicing, and aside from the way you worry about her traveling home alone at night, all you feel is an overwhelming sense of pride from watching her dance. You've been to a few of her performances, and she's like nothing you've ever seen before. She was good in high school, yes, but here she _shines_.

This is why you're not surprised by her news when she comes home one night, a serious look on her face. Brittany is rarely in a serious mood, and you can tell immediately something is up.

"Baby?" you ask, and her eyes rise sheepishly to meet yours. You're sitting at the kitchen counter, eating dinner, and she's been staring into her soup bowl for the past three minutes.

"Sorry," she says, laughing, and you smile.

"What's up?" you ask, reaching for her hand. She squeezes yours back tightly, sighing.

"I have to tell you something," she announces. "But I'm nervous how you might take it."

You furrow your brow as your mind jumps to all sorts of conclusions, nearly all of which you'd bet serious money on not being true because Brittany would never, _ever_ do anything to hurt you.

"Don't be nervous, B," you say, as reassuringly as you can despite your own nerves. "Just tell me what's going on."

"I got offered a job," she says quietly. Her eyes flick to yours to gauge your reaction, but you're smiling. "As a dancer."

"What? Babe, that's great!" You pull her into you for a hug. "What is it?"

"I… um. You know that showcase I danced in about a month ago?" You nod. "Well there was a scout there, and he wants me to join this dance group."

"And you'd get paid?" This time it's her turn to nod. "You're going to get paid. You'll be a professional dancer. I don't see the downside in this, baby," you laugh, nudging her.

Her eyes drop back down to her soup.

"It's a touring group," she says. "We'll be gone for two months, starting in two weeks."

You look at her, and you can tell this is the part she was nervous to tell you about. You squeeze her hand again, and she looks up at you.

"That sounds amazing, babe," you say with a smile, and she visibly relaxes. She smiles at you for a moment before sighing.

"I don't know, Santana," she breathes out. "Two months is a long time. I'd have to take the semester off."

"So, you take the semester off. It's not a huge deal. You're building a resume! This will make you look that much more impressive when you get out of school."

She still looks skeptical, so you continue.

"And you'll learn so much. You'll get first hand experience of what it's like to be on a tour with other professional dancers, and maybe even more scouts will get to see you this way. It sounds like such a great opportunity, Britt."

She smiles again, but you can tell it's not entirely real.

"It's just…" she looks at your hands. "I'll miss you."

You bring her hand to your mouth and kiss it.

"I'll be here when you come back," you promise, and she smiles at your intertwined fingers.

"Do you want to go?" you ask, looking at her closely so you can tell if she's lying in her answer.

She takes a deep breath, then nods, slowly at first, but picking up speed as she makes up her mind.

"Then you're going."

Her eyebrows are pinched together and her mouth is slanted downwards, and you can tell she still doesn't like the idea. You're quick to reassure her.

"It'll only be two months, Britt. I can even maybe come visit you once and we can Skype all the time, you know?"

Later you'll find it ironic that you were the one who convinced her to go, that gave her that extra push.

She frowns, looking straight into your eyes, and if it were anyone else you would feel extremely uncomfortable. Her mouth opens and closes several times, and she can't seem to find the words she wants to say.

"I'll miss you," she decides on after a minute, and you grip her tightly and pull her into you.

"I'll miss you more," you breathe into her hair.

* * *

The two weeks before Brittany leaves with the group are hectic, and you don't get to see her nearly as much as you'd like to. She got added to the group late, so she's a bit behind in learning the routines, which means that she has to spend more time at the dance studio, practicing, than at home with you.

You know that it shouldn't make you quite as sad as it does, but you can't help it. You figure as long as you don't tell Brittany that it's hurting you, you're not a bad person. You're just in love.

* * *

The night before Brittany is supposed to get on a plane, she misses the dinner you have planned. She doesn't know, but you cooked her favorites. They're already cold on the table by the time she calls, apologizing, saying she'll be home within two hours. She apologizes again, and there's an uncomfortable silence when you don't tell her it's all right. She says she loves you, and this you _do _respond to, and she hangs up.

She walks in an hour and forty minutes later. You're sitting on the couch, eyes trained on a television that you haven't_ really_ been watching since you sat down in front of it. She has a brown paper bag in her hands, and your eyes flick to it for a moment before going back to the television.

She kneels next to you on the couch, her lips immediately landing on your cheek.

"Baby…" she says, and you turn to look at her. She's smiling, and you almost smile back, but you force yourself to pout instead. She giggles.

You're jealous, because whenever she pouts you just can't resist her, and she knows that. When you pout, she laughs at you.

"I brought ice cream!" she sings, and your face softens. "I figured we could curl up and watch a movie, if that sounds good to you?"

You sigh, knowing that it'd be hopeless to try and stay angry with her. Besides, you don't want to spend your last night together fighting.

"Finding Nemo?" you suggest, because you know it's her favorite, and it's so worth watching it for the twelfth time since you've moved in to watch her face light up as she nods.

* * *

"Santana?"

Brittany is standing in the doorway. You'd decided you needed to shower after the movie, and she'd stayed in the living room to print out her boarding pass for her flight in the morning.

You've just slipped a t-shirt over your head when you hear her. You turn around and smile.

"Yeah, Britt?"

Her arms hug her sides awkwardly as she enters your bedroom. It's a foreign sight; the graceful dancer rarely looks awkward in any way.

"I'm sorry about earlier," she says quietly, looking at the floor.

"Britt," you sigh, walking up to her and wrapping your arms around her. "It's okay. We don't have to talk about this."

"Yeah, we do," she insists. "I… I kind of stayed out on purpose."

You jerk away from her.

"What?" you ask, feeling a pinch of hurt because Brittany _intentionally _didn't spend her last night home with you.

"I just…" she breathes out heavily, her mouth scrunching to one side. "I'm nervous."

You're not sure why that would result in her wanting to avoid you, but you lean back into her anyway.

"Brittany, don't be ridiculous. You're going to be great," you assure her, rubbing your hand up and down her arm.

"No, no," she says, shaking her head. "I'm nervous about us."

Your eyes lock onto Brittany's, and you're not entirely sure what she means.

Actually, you're not sure at all what she means.

"What about us?" you ask, carefully.

She sits down on the corner of the bed, facing you.

"I'm going to miss you," she says, and you feel like you've heard it a thousand times. It still makes your heart a little warmer every time she says it, though, because you feel that much better knowing that she's on the same page as you.

"I'll miss you too, babe," you reply.

"You will?" she asks, and she sounds scared of the answer. Your brow furrows. You know you haven't been telling her everything you're feeling about this because you don't want her to think she has to stay because of you, but you didn't know that you were making her feel like she wasn't going to be missed. That wasn't your intention at all.

"Of course I'm going to miss you," you assure her, taking the seat next to her. "I'll miss you so much, every day."

"Oh…" she says, and she sounds confused. "I thought… I don't know, you've seemed like you're excited for me to be gone."

You shake your head, seeing how she could get that impression. You haven't been very clear with her lately. Maybe you've been preparing yourself for the distance by trying to keep her at arms length when it comes to your emotions, but you realize now that that was silly. Communicating with Brittany is never a bad idea.

"I'm not excited for you to be gone, Britt. I'm excited for you to _go_. I'm excited you're going to get to experience these amazing things and become an even more amazing dancer. I'm so, so proud of you, baby."

A small smile forms on her face. "Really?"

You nod, pulling her into you. You kiss her; your lips press against hers in the way you know you're going to miss so badly the next day.

Her hands find their way up your body, first trailing up your arms, then cupping your cheeks, and now one is tangled in your hair. You're not sure how long you've been kissing, but when you pull away you're both out of breath, and Brittany has this airy smile she only wears after a particularly good kiss.

"We'll be okay?" she asks, leaning her forehead against yours.

"We'll be perfect," you reply. "I promise."

_She_ kisses _you_ this time, and you feel the way your words affected her in the smile she presses into your lips every time they meet hers. Her hands are warm and soft, and you feel their affects on you every where she touches you—your arms, your face, your neck, your stomach, your –

"Oh, _god_, Britt," you hiss as her right hand palms at your breast while she lightly kisses her way up your neck. She stops at your ear, timing the flick of her thumb against your nipple with a slow lick across the shell of your ear. You groan, loudly, and she smiles when you buck against her.

"I'll miss you," she says into your ear, before kissing down your body to your stomach.

You want to tell her you'll miss her more, but then she's pulling on your underwear and her mouth is on you, and you think that she may just have to get the message from the way your back arches off the bed as you moan her name.

* * *

The first week she's gone isn't as bad as you thought it would be. You're distracted a lot, honestly, and most nights you can convince yourself that Brittany is just out at the studio, that she'll be there when you wake up.

Mornings are the hardest, but most of them begin with a sweet text from Brittany when you wake up. She tells you what she's doing that day, she tells you how much fun she's having, she tells you how much she misses you and loves you. One day she tells you about a dream she had that you were the star of, and, well – you end up on the phone later that day with your hand in your underwear, listening to her pant out the details of her dream on the other end of the line.

The second week is much worse. You miss her in a lot of ways you didn't expect. You always come home to a dark house, now. You make way too much food sometimes, forgetting that you're not cooking for two. Eventually you decide to stop cooking and just eat HotPockets and Ramen, like you did in your freshman year.

You like that you can watch whatever TV show you want, but it doesn't feel as satisfying as it does when you've won that privilege from a pouting Brittany.

She doesn't call you as much the second week, either. They've started doing shows every night, and on more than one day they have two shows back to back. Brittany is exhausted by it all, but thrilled that she's getting to dance professionally, and you don't have the heart to tell her how much you miss her when she's off having so much fun.

One day you barely hear from her at all besides the good morning text. You don't want to seem overbearing, so even though you're worried something has happened to her, you don't call her. You're fears are settled when there's a text waiting for you the next morning.

The third week, you get to Skype with her. Her webcam is broken, but one of the other girls on the tour is nice enough to let Brittany borrow her laptop for a half an hour. Brittany looks absolutely gorgeous, and you can't stop smiling the entire time. Brittany shows you a few of the dance moves she's learned, and tells you about her friends. The conversation ends abruptly when Brittany has to leave for dinner, but she promises she'll call you tomorrow night.

You watch cartoons that night, a pillow clutched against your chest.

* * *

The rest of the tour continues this way, until it's the last few days and you are bubbling with excitement that Brittany is coming home. You have spent _way_ too much time with Rachel and Kurt, and Rachel's enthusiasm and Kurt's romanticism have started to rub off on you. You think of having a big elaborate date planned for when Brittany gets back, but realize that would be too cheesy and Brittany would probably be too tired for it anyway.

Instead, you decide to recreate the dinner that you made Brittany the night before she left. Brittany's plane lands around four in the afternoon, and she catches a taxi back to the apartment.

You're pacing when she hears the door open.

"San?" Brittany calls out, you grin at the sound of her voice, so _here_, so _present. _You run into the hallway and grab Brittany before she gets to take a single step away from the door.

Brittany is laughing, but she's returning your hug with just as much enthusiasm. She only pulls away to bring you in for a kiss, one that makes your legs feel just a little bit weaker before she pulls back.

"Hi," she says, a blush on her cheeks.

You don't answer, just pull her into another kiss.

* * *

"God, San, this is delicious," Brittany says through a mouthful of food. You laugh, because it's just mac n' cheese, but if it makes Brittany happy you won't argue with it.

"I'll make you as much mac as you want, B, I'm just so glad you're home," you smile at her.

She puts her fork down suddenly, and you jump at the noise.

"Britt?"

She looks up at you, and you know that face, like she's guilty of something.

"Santana…" she starts, and you can honestly say you don't know what to expect. "I have some news."

"News?" you parrot, because you don't know what else would be an appropriate response in this situation.

She nods.

"You know how I was picked out by a scout at my showcase? Well…"

Your stomach clenches as you realize where she's going with this, and you immediately feel guilty for wishing with all that you've got that her next words aren't what you think they'll be.

They are.

"I got offered a spot on another tour," she says, and she sounds excited. "You'll never guess with who!"

"Who?" you ask, even though your throat is tight and you really, really do not want to know.

"Beyonce!" she says, and you don't register the name.

"Beyonce?" you repeat, and you feel bad that you haven't really come up with your own words for a few minutes now.

She nods, grinning, and the name doesn't click until you're jumping out of your seat, looking at her with wide eyes.

"Holy shit, _Beyonce?!"_ you shout, and she's on her feet then too, nodding excitedly.

"I'm just a backup dancer, and there's going to be a lot of us on this tour, but the scout who picked me up for this last tour recommended me to a friend and then he came and saw one of the shows and he just… I'm going on tour with Beyonce!"

You grab her by the shoulders and pull her into a hug, kissing everywhere you can reach in the process.

"I'm so glad you're happy," she breathes, and you laugh. How could you not be happy? Your baby is going to be a dancer for _the_ Beyonce.

You ask her this, and she shrugs as she pulls away.

"I don't know, I just… I thought you wouldn't want me leaving again, after being away for so long."

"How soon do you have to go?" you ask, and you feel guilty about how sad your voice suddenly sounds.

"I have a month," she answers, and you're glad that it's at least more than two weeks this time. "But…"

"What is it, Britt?" you ask, when she doesn't continue her sentence. Her lip is worried between her teeth, and she's back to looking as nervous as before.

"This tour isn't for two months, San," she says quietly. You feel panic grip your chest and you will yourself to not look visibly upset.

"How long is it?" She drops her eyes from yours onto the floor, and it feels like your stomach dropped with them.

"A year."

You breathe out. A whole _fucking _year. Not only do you have to live through these past two months again, but this time, it'll be for six times as long.

"A year?" you repeat, just to make sure, and she nods sadly.

"Listen, Santana, if you don't want me to go I can—"

"My baby is going on tour with Beyonce for a whole year," you interrupt her, and she looks surprised before a huge smile takes over her face. She tackles you in a hug, and you stumble a bit from the force of it.

"I love you so much," she says into your shirt.

"Yeah," you reply, rubbing her back. "Me too."

* * *

The month goes by quicker than you ever thought it could, and you find it funny that just a short time ago a month was dragging along to be one of the longest periods of your life. You're seeing her off to her plane before you even have time to fully process that she's actually leaving, again.

Single Ladies plays on the radio on the ride home, and you nearly break the knob of you hit the power button so hard.

* * *

The first two months pass pretty much the same as the last tour. Brittany can't send you texts every morning anymore because of her schedule, but you get used to it within the first week. You've adjusted to all the other parts of Brittany missing from your life; one more isn't too big of a deal.

The third month is a bit more painful. You've never been away from her for this long, obviously, and you begin to cling to Rachel like a lost puppy. She sees what you're doing but never comments, and for that you'll always be grateful.

She even lets you come over and get absolutely shitfaced at her house. You sing karaoke and watch whatever trashy reality TV you want, and it feels so nice to be distracted for a little while that you crash so hard later that night when you realize you haven't thought of Brittany in hours, and you wonder how often that happens to her.

You used to be so in love with her that she wouldn't stay out of your thoughts for more than a few minutes, but that was when thinking of her didn't hurt. You miss that.

* * *

The fourth month you get a featured solo in a performance at NYU. Brittany was always pressuring you to audition. You try to call her a few times that day, but she doesn't answer. She calls you back long after you've fallen asleep, and leaves you a long voice mail, apologizing for missing your calls and catching you up on what's been going on with her—she's happy, but she misses you "so, _so _much."

* * *

Your birthday is in the sixth month, and you wake up to a text message from Brittany. It makes you smile, because it was sent at midnight and you're pretty sure she stayed up just for you.

You go to class, have a lovely lunch out with Rachel and Kurt, and nearly have a heart attack when you walk into your apartment that evening to see Brittany leaning against the couch waiting for you.

You're in her arms before you have time to decide whether or not she's real, and you're so relieved when she embraces you and kisses you on the mouth.

"What are you doing here?" you ask, embarrassed by how tearful your voice sounds. You decide it's okay, though, because her eyes are watering too.

"I missed you too much to stay away. I can only stay for a night, but we were passing by New York and it's your birthday and just… I missed you so much," she settles on, kissing you again.

"I missed you more," you say, and kiss her just as hard.

"Happy Birthday, Santana," she says, smiling, and you know that there isn't anything else you could have ever wanted.

* * *

Brittany has to leave early in the morning, but you're so thankful that you got to spend time with her, as little as it may have been.

You kiss her as she gets on the bus and she smiles into it, the way that she always does that makes your heart race, and you feel so, so happy. Rachel meets you for lunch that day with a big grin on her face, so proud of herself for keeping Brittany's surprise visit a secret in the weeks preceding your birthday. You hug her without warning, and she's wearing the biggest grin you've ever seen her with when you pull away.

* * *

The seventh month brings change. Brittany stops calling.

You don't think it's intentional. She's been added to more and more numbers as the tour goes on and people realize how talented she truly is. She's been super busy, with rehearsals all day and shows all night. She barely has time to sleep anymore.

You know all this, but still, it hurts like hell when you realize it's been nearly five days since you've talked to her.

You call her, but no one picks up.

You listen to the voicemail just to hear her voice, but hang up before it reaches the end when you realize how pathetic that is.

* * *

It's on the tenth month when you know you can't do this anymore.

You go to the club with your friends, the new ones from class that you haven't hung out with much before. There's a girl there, Emily, and she's showing all the classic signs of crushing, pretty hardcore, on you. She laughs at your jokes, shoves you playfully, texts you cute, funny jokes during class just to see you smile. You don't mind the attention at this point, honestly. You haven't heard from Brittany in _days_, and although you would never ever cheat on her, having someone flirt with you does feel quite nice.

You're not sure why you accepted her invitation to dance. It was probably an awful idea, and you might have recognized that had you not had a few drinks in your system. Unfortunately, the Jack and Cokes had been calling your name all night long.

You're dancing with her in ways that you shouldn't be, but hey—it's the way everyone in the club is dancing. Brittany wouldn't be jealous, no. In fact, you're sure she's danced this way with a ton of people since you've last seen her.

Emily is a good dancer. Not as good as Brittany, obviously, because no one is, but she's as good as you, if not better, and she's on a mission. You're not sure whether or not you've mentioned you have a girlfriend, recently. It hasn't come up much in conversation around this group; they aren't much for emotional talks.

Emily grinds against you and you move with her easily, falling into rhythm without thought. Her mouth is near your neck, and she breathes out heavily, and that's when you feel it—goosebumps. Something tightens in your stomach, and you pull away quickly at the sudden pulse of arousal now shooting through you.

"You all right?" Emily asks, looking concerned, and you pull away from her shaking you head.

"I need some air," you say, shouting so you can hear, and she nods. She grabs your hand and leads you towards the door, and even though this was something you definitely wanted to do alone, you don't want her to go away. You feel like you're about to break down, because _fuck_ you feel so guilty about being that strongly attracted to anyone other than Britt, and you figure a bit of human compassion won't hurt.

When you get outside, Emily immediately wraps her arms around you in a hug. You fall into the embrace, resting your forehead on her shoulder as you try to calm your thoughts. Before you can, though, Emily is leaning back and then forward again, and you don't recognize what's going to happen before it's too late and her lips are on yours.

You don't kiss back. Not really, anyway. Not that it's that sort of kiss. It was sweet, and you honestly feel a little bit sad because Emily is nice and funny and you are definitely attracted to her, but you are so _helplessly_ in love with someone who hasn't called you in six days.

"I'm sorry," she says, sensing that it wasn't something you wanted. You excuse it because she's probably drunk and you know you are too, and maybe that's why you didn't protest this entire time, but something about that excuse doesn't seem to fit right with you.

"It's okay," you reply, and she offers you a small smile before pulling you back into a hug.

You get home that night and cry for what feels like hours, knowing that you could've fucked things up really badly tonight if you had just been a little more drunk or a little more upset with Brittany.

You decide you can't do this anymore, and you'll have to tell her next time you speak with her.

You're going to have to ask her not to do any more tours at least until she gets out of school. You know she's just doing what she loves, but you can't stand being away from her anymore. You feel so guilty about it, but you realize that if you don't ask her, your relationship is going to fall apart completely anyway.

* * *

"You're not going to believe this," she says when you get her on the phone the next day, and you get excited because it sounds like she has something really great to tell you. You try not to get your hopes up that she's going to tell you she's coming home early or that she can visit you for a weekend, but you can't help it.

"Oh, I'm not, am I?" you ask, and she giggles.

"No, you're not. It's out of this world, Santana. There are so many people here and they all just—the all want me to dance for them!"

Okay, so it's not exactly the kind of news you were expecting, and it makes your heart break a little more than you thought was possible at this point.

"That's awesome, B," you respond, and it feels automatic by now.

"Yeah!" she replies, not noticing your lack of enthusiasm. "But that's not all. Guess who called me an hour ago with like, the offer of a century?"

"Who?" you ask, because you really don't feel like guessing.

"Britney. Spears."

You process it a lot faster than you processed the news of Beyonce. Britney Spears, one of Britt's idols. They danced around to Britney in their rooms when they were just kids, using hairbrushes as microphones and jumping up and down on Brittany's bed like it was their stage.

"Holy fuck, baby. That's amazing!" you reply, and you can hear her humming with excitement on the other end.

"Yeah, I'm so excited! But Sanny, I gotta go. I wanted to call you and give you the good news, but I really can't stay on the phone for longer. We're in the middle of rehearsal and they all think I'm in the bathroom," she laughs.

You say your goodbyes and hang-up.

You're left staring at the phone in your hand blankly for a few minutes, before you begin to cry.

* * *

Brittany calls to tell you that her plane landed safely and she's about to go find a taxi.

"I'll be home by eight!" she says excitedly.

She's twenty minutes late, and you don't find yourself minding at all this time around. Gone is the itch to see her, the one that used to claw at your mind until you had her in your arms, her lips pressed against yours. Honestly, you're dreading the moment the key turns in the lock and everything changes.

It happens anyway, not five minutes later.

You draw in a sharp breath when you hear footsteps outside, because you _know_ it's her (you _always _know when it's her). The key turns in the lock and the door opens and you hear her humming softly under her breath.

She drags her suitcase in inside and the humming stops. You don't move or make a sound from your seat on the couch, and she waits a beat before calling out your name.

"Santana?"

She's expecting you to be there, waiting for her, rushing to greet her with hugs and kisses and love, and the thought tightens your chest. For a second you consider forgetting it all, consider running into her arms and pulling on her neck until her lips meet yours and not letting them part until morning.

"Santana? I'm home!"

You push yourself off the couch. You tell yourself to move your feet, to walk into the hall and do it (_like ripping off a Band-Aid_, _make it quick and get out of there). _Somehow the words "in here, Britt!" escape your mouth instead, and you want to slap yourself.

She walks into the room, a bright smile on her face. A _Brittany_ smile, as you've always called it, radiant and contagious and you almost feel the corners of your mouth tugging up at the sight.

"There you are!" She's wearing sweatpants and a tank top, perfect clothes for travelling. Her hair is up in a messy ponytail and you want to pull her into bed with you and cuddle her, holding her until you both fall asleep, and you can wake up in the morning and make her Mickey Mouse pancakes.

You're in her arms before you realize what's happening, and she's running her hands up and down your back in the way that only she knows how to. Your arms rise weakly around her, and you're angry with yourself for you own weakness.

"I've missed you so much," she says, squeezing you tighter.

You swallow thickly and don't respond. It takes a moment before you feel her body tensing, and you can almost hear her thoughts as she realizes you're not hugging her back nearly as tightly as you should be.

She pulls back, and you see the worry in her eyes when she asks, "Are you okay?"

You lick your lips and avert your eyes. Four words, that's all you have to say, but you find yourself wanting to put them off as much as possible. Now that she's _here_, it's different. You consider briefly waiting until the last day before she has to go back on tour to do this, but you know how cruel that would be to her. If you do it now, at least she has two weeks to recuperate.

"We need to talk," you say, and you surprise yourself with how strong your voice sounds.

She looks at you blankly for a second, before smiling slightly. You know she can sense what you're about to say, but she's trying to assure herself that she must be wrong.

"Baby, you're scaring me," she says with a small laugh. She looks relieved, and you realize it's because you're smiling now too.

_Fucking idiot,_ you scold yourself for giving her false hope. But it's _Brittany_, and you just can't help it; her laughter makes your heart race, no matter what the circumstance.

"I…" you trail off, unable to finish your sentence.

"You…" she says, giggling, teasing you. She thinks this is a game, and you feel a rush of guilt.

"You should sit down," you say, and her smile drops.

"Why?" she asks, curiosity evident in her voice.

"We need to talk," you repeat, and this time she doesn't smile afterwards.

She stares at you for a few seconds, blinking.

"Are you breaking up with me?" she asks, and your heart twinges with affection at Brittany's endearingly blunt nature.

"Yes," you reply, and you force yourself to look at her. You won't be a coward during this.

She doesn't react at first, taking a few deep breaths before her eyebrows pull inwards, forming a crease between her eyes.

"Oh my god," is all she says after nearly a minute of silence. She breathes out, and it almost sounds like a laugh, but you can tell by the tears gathering in her eyes that it isn't one. "Why?"

She sounds so shocked and small and hurt, and it takes everything in you not to start crying.

"I just can't do this anymore," you reply, and you know it's a copout of an answer, but you can't bring yourself to tell her that you're leaving because you're weak and you can't handle being in love with someone from a distance.

"I-is… is it someone else?" she asks timidly, sucking her lips into her mouth as she waits for an answer. She hasn't started crying, not yet, and for that you're grateful, but you can see the tears in her eyes and you know it probably won't be long.

"No," you answer with a firm shake of your head.

"Do you not love me anymore?" her voice is filled with so much heartbreak you feel your own heart cracking your ribs as it tries to force you towards her.

"Of course I love you," you say, and the words echo in your mind as words from your past. You remember how far you've come together since those days in high school, and you realize you've never really done right by her. Not then, and certainly not now.

"Then… why?" she asks, and you can feel her eyes on your face as she waits for an answer.

"I just can't be in a relationship with you anymore. We're not right for each other," you try to say, but she shakes her head immediately.

"That's _bullshit_," she says angrily, and you know she wouldn't be saying it if she wasn't absolutely certain that you were just trying to get out of this as easily as possible. You look at the ground, ashamed at your attempt to try and lie to her, ashamed that you didn't know she'd see right through you.

"Why?" she asks again, this time with more conviction.

You remain silent for a few seconds before finding the courage to answer.

"I can't be with someone who is never here, Britt," you say.

"What?!" she nearly shouts. You flinch a bit but don't move backwards. "But, Santana, that's—I—y-you were the one… You told me to go, you convinced me to go. And now you're leaving me because of it?"

Your heart clenches because you know you've been stupid, you've made a mistake and you've hurt the one person who you care about most in the world.

"Things change," you say softly.

"Things don't just change overnight, Santana," Brittany says, and you know she's right. She's always right. "You should have _told _me."

"I tried to," you begin to say, but her eyes cut you off with a harsh look and you end up sighing instead.

"I just…" you say, and now it's the part you've been dreading, the part you just want to skip. You know you're not good with words and you know everything is going to come out wrong and she might end up hating you.

"You're not here," is all you can manage at first. You can tell you must look pathetic because Brittany's eyes soften once more and she looks like she feels guilty, which is the last thing you want.

"You're not here, and I _miss _you," your voice breaks, and you take a deep breath to calm yourself before continuing. "I miss you_ so much_, and it just feels like… It feels like you left me, you know? And I know you didn't leave me, I know you love me, it's not that," you quickly insist as her face falls.

"But… you're so far away, Britt. You don't have time for me anymore. I feel like I've been broken up with but I can't get over it or move on because every month or two you appear for a weekend or a Skype date and I know that I'm so in love with you, that I'm so yours that I could never get over it while we're like this, that it'll always keep hurting this bad as long as we're together."

Tears have started to fall from her eyes as you speak to her, and she pulls hand against her mouth to muffle the sound of her crying. Your heart hurts at the sight and you don't know what to do now that you've finished saying all that you have to say.

"I-I…" she stutters. You're afraid of what she's going to say next, if she's going to beg for you to stay or tell you you're an idiot or _what_, but instead she just says, "I'm so sorry."

"You didn't know," you say softly, and she shakes her head, taking a shuddering breath.

"I should have," she insists. "In a way I think I did, I just didn't… I didn't think that—" she stops speaking to take another deep breath, and you can tell she's trying not to break down in front of you.

You decide that's your cue to leave.

"You can stay here," you tell her. "I'm going to go stay at Rachel's until you leave again for the tour. I'll move out after that," you finish, and go to move past her, but she steps in front of the doorway.

"S-Santana, wait—"

_Oh God. _

"No, I can fix this. I'll quit. I'll come back, I'll live here again," she says, tears spilling over onto her cheeks. "I'll live here with you and everything can be good and happy again. I'll go back to Juilliard and we can go out to lunch with Kurt and Rachel every Monday again and we can have TV nights and date nights and— "

You know she's rambling, and you feel bad cutting her off, but all of this is sounding too tempting and you could never live with yourself if you let her do any of that.

"Brittany, stop it," you interrupt her, and the words stop. Her mouth hangs open, still, and she takes short breaths that almost sound like gasps out of it. "You're not quitting. You're not going to go back to school."

"Yes, I am!" she says firmly, and takes a step closer to you. "Santana, I'm not gonna let this break us up. I'll go back to school, I'll study and I'll train some more. It'll be good for me. Juilliard is the opportunity of a lifetime, it was stupid for me to have left in the first place." You cringe inwardly at this.

"It wasn't stupid, Britt. You were chasing your dreams—"

"_You're_ my dream."

You pause for a moment, a sigh falling from your mouth. Your hand rises to brush against your brow, a gesture you always subconsciously make when you're frustrated.

"I'm not, Brittany."

She shakes her head at you, and you know she's about to argue some more so you speak again before she has the chance to open her mouth.

"The only thing that Juilliard is going to give you is opportunities like the ones you've already made for yourself, B."

"It'll give me you," she insists, watery eyes locking onto your own.

"No, it won't."

She blinks at you, not understanding your words for a moment, before her eyes flash with the most hurt you've ever seen in a person.

"What are you saying?" she asks, her voice quiet and cracking.

"I'm not going to let you give all this up for me," you say, and now you're the one with tears in your eyes, and _goddamn-it all _because you promised yourself you wouldn't cry during this. You know what it does to her when you cry.

"Santana…" she says, and you keep your eyes down as you hear her choking on a sob, realizing there's nothing she can do to talk you out of this. This is really happening, and you feel awful because you know it's breaking her heart. It's all you can do not to reach out and grab her, hold her, but you're so _fucking_ selfish and you know doing this for any longer will break you (though now you're not so sure this option is any better). "_P-_please, San, don't…"

You stand there awkwardly for a good thirty seconds before her sobs have quieted down and you allow yourself to look up. She's sat down on her suitcase now, her head in her hands, shaking it back and forth.

It's as if she feels your eyes on her, because she looks up at you within a few moments.

"Santana…" she trails off, shrugging helplessly. "I—I don't... Please don't _leave _me. We can _fix _this," she insists, reaching forward and grabbing your hand.

You feel how warm it is, the soft skin pressing against yours making your heart beat fast.

You pull away.

"I don't want to," you say quietly, and she starts to cry again. "I want what's best for you, Britt. You're my best friend. You always will be. I want to see you happy, I want to see your dreams come true. You can't do that with me, anymore."

"I c-can't do any of it without you, Santana. _Please_, I—"

You hold up your hand to stop her and you're surprised when she does. She looks at you and you have a hard time keeping your eyes are her sad blue ones.

"You're really doing this?" she asks, and you nod.

"I have to," you say quietly. She blinks for a second, as if remembering _why_ it is you're doing this in the first place, and the she looks even sadder.

"I'm so s-sorry I hurt you," she says, and your resolve finally breaks enough to pull her into a hug. Her body molds to yours as if it knows that this is the last time she'll get to be held by you.

"It just couldn't work out, Britt," you say. It sounds like it's way too simple, but it's the truth.

She shakes her head in protest against your shoulder, but doesn't try to argue anymore. You can tell by the way she's slumped against you that the fight is gone out of her.

"I'm gonna go," you say, pulling away. She doesn't move, just lets her arms fall against her sides and stares at the same spot on the floor.

You press a kiss to her forehead, something that makes your heart ache even more than you felt possible but you're pretty sure it would have killed you not to do it. She wraps her arms around herself and she looks so small, standing there.

"I love you," she says just as you reach the door, and you almost don't hear it. This time, you don't respond.


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: **Apparently I'm continuing this. I wasn't really intending on it, but when I sat down to do my homework tonight this came out instead. I'm sorry if it's not the direction all of you wanted to see this go in, but there will be more, I promise. It's not as angst-y as the last, so that's a plus! I apologize for all the grammatical errors (I'm working on a editor with no spellcheck or anything).

iam-your-opus . tumblr . com

Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

Brittany

* * *

You know you should have seen it coming.

At first you blame her, because_ Jesus, _Santana- how could she have let you hurt her that badly for so long without telling you somewhere along the way?

You realize later on that you would have done the exact same thing in her shoes. She didn't say anything because she loved you and she wanted you to be happy, and you take some comfort in that.

Despite her best efforts, however, you don't learn how to be happy without her for a while.

The first night by yourself in the apartment is the hardest.

The space feels so much bigger without her there, and you swear you keep hearing her voice, the sound of her footsteps in the hallway and you _know_, you believe with all your heart, that any minute now she's going to walk back through that door.

You try to stay up through the whole first night just to make sure you won't miss it when she comes back. Maybe she'll say she's sorry she left. Maybe she'll realize you can work this out if she just lets you try. Maybe she'll crawl under the covers with you, kissing your face before pulling your arms around her so you're holding her as closely as possible, and you'll realize that everything that happened was just a nightmare, an awful, awful dream.

You've never once given up on Santana during all of your time together, and you don't know what to do now that she's given up _for_ you. Mostly, you just cry.

You fall asleep with the sheets wrapped tightly around you, in the bed that you shared far too few nights together in. You wonder how many hours she's spent like this, wishing you were there, your absence trailing tears down her cheeks. When you finally do fall asleep, the image of her laying here, alone and sad (_like you are now_), leaves restless dreams charging through your mind.

* * *

You wake up to your phone ringing the next morning.

By the time you realize it may be Santana you've already pressed the green button, your sleep-addled brain desperate to get the noise to stop as quickly as possible.

"Brittany?"

It isn't Santana, but at least it's a familiar voice.

"Kurt," you reply, falling back into your pillow. There's silence for a few seconds.

"Hey, Britt," he responds, his voice lower and quieter than usual. You've talked to Kurt countless times on the phone before, but you can't remember ever hearing that tone in his voice. He sounds sad, and you realize how badly this breakup is going to affect everyone involved.

"Hi," you answer just as quietly, and your voice sounds tired from crying. You hear him sigh on the other side.

"Listen, I know this is a rough time…" he starts, but you don't let him finish his thought.

"Have you seen her? Is she with you?"

"No… she's at Rachel's. That's actually why I'm calling. Santana asked me to stop by and pick up a few of her things."

It makes your chest ache in a whole different way when you realize Santana doesn't want to come by the apartment herself. It feels more final than you're willing to admit, and you try to take your mind off it by replying, "When will you be here?"

"I'm just a few blocks away getting some coffee. I'll pick you up one and be there in about… twenty five?"

You tell Kurt that's fine and hang up the phone. It drops against your mattress, thudding as it bounces a couple of times. You close your eyes and feel the tears push against them, your head throbbing with the memory of everything that's gone wrong in the past twenty-four hours. You take a few deep breaths and push all those thoughts from your mind- they can wait until after Kurt leaves.

You decide to pack Santana's bag for her, because you know no matter _how_ desperate she is, the last thing she would want is to have Kurt in charge of her wardrobe.

You pull out some outfits for school, and you feel something tug at your heart when you realize that you no longer recognize all of her clothing. A lot of this stuff is new, and you're not sure what she wears most often, but you think you have a pretty good idea (you have known her since sixth grade, after all).

You throw in a couple of "laundry-day" outfits, oddly colored sweatpants and loose sweaters that you've had since high school, the ones that you'd wear only in the comfort of your own apartment. You pack only enough clothes for about a week, and hope that she'll come herself to get more when she runs out.

* * *

You have your face buried in your favorite sweatshirt of hers when you hear Kurt knocking at the front door. You don't know what happened- you promised yourself you wouldn't cry. Somewhere between the old memories of entire weekends spent in sweatpants, cuddling and watching movies, and realizing that you're never again going to know all the details of Santana's life, like what she has inside of her closet, you felt something break inside of you.

"Brittany?" you hear Kurt call through the door. He's been out there for about a minute now, but you've been unable to force yourself to move.

You mop your face against the sleeves of the sweatshirt, sniffling as you do so. You know it's going to look as if you've been crying, but you decide that Kurt must be expecting it if he's coming over the morning after the love of your life told you it was too painful to be with you anymore.

You drag your feet out of your room and through the living room, opening the door just as Kurt starts to call your name again. His fist falls from the door when he sees you, taking in your appearance for a second before muttering "oh, honey," and embracing you tightly. You're not sure how long you stand there, with Kurt's hands rubbing comforting patterns across your back, but you've spent the entire time unmoving, buried in the crook of his neck.

"Have you eaten anything?" he asks, and you think it's a strange question to ask a crying friend before you realize that he probably has no idea how to help you, and he's trying to take care of you the only way he knows how. You shake your head, and he pulls back and takes your hand, pulling you into the kitchen.

He ushers you onto a barstool, and places a cardboard cup in front of you on the counter.

"I got your favorite," he offers with a hopeful smile. "Blueberry coffee with extra vanilla creamer. That's right, isn't it?"

He seems so nervous that you almost laugh. You don't, but you do manage to smile and nod, reaching out to grab the cup. You don't feel like drinking coffee, because it might snap you out of this fog and then you'd have to actually _think_, but you don't want to make Kurt feel bad, so you raise the cup to your lips and take a long drink, "mmh"-ing as you swallow.

"Thanks," you say, and the warm liquid has soothed your voice so it's no longer cracking from exhaustion.

He doesn't respond, just looks at you with an uncomfortable smile for a few moments before he begins to look concerned.

"Britt," he says, reaching forward to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. "You look exhausted. Did you sleep?"

You nod.

"How much?"

You realize that you have no idea how long you were asleep for. It could have been anywhere from a half hour to ten hours, so you just shrug instead.

He looks as if he's about to hug you again, and you honestly wouldn't mind because you don't know who you're going to have to hug when you're upset anymore, but instead he just turns around and grabs the loaf of bread off the counter.

"Toast?" he offers, barely registering your nod before popping the pieces into the toaster. A few uncomfortable seconds pass, the sound of the toaster clicking filling the room.

"Look, Britt…" he finally says, his back to you. He turns around and the concerned look is back on his face, and you feel bad because you don't think he wants to be doing this at all.

"I really don't know how to deal with this sort of thing," he offers. "But if you want to talk about it… I think you should, you know?"

You nod slowly, slightly confused by what he's saying. Does he want you to talk to someone other than him?

"So…" he trails off, walking towards you to lean across the counter, his eyes now on level with yours. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

You blink at him for a moment before dropping his gaze, your eyes tracing the cracked pattern in the wooden countertop before shrugging.

"You don't know?" he asks. "Well, Britt, I'm sure you know more than I do. Try to explain?"

You chuckle lowly and shake your head.

"I don't think I know more than you do at all, actually," you say sadly, and he frowns.

"What do you mean?" he asks, and you sigh.

"I mean… has Santana been lonely without me here?" you say, before realizing that isn't quite what you wanted to know. She wouldn't seem _lonely_, exactly. She had Kurt and Rachel after all. "Has she been sad?"

"Britt…" he begins, but sighs heavily before continuing. "I'm really not sure that it's my place to tell you that sort of thing."

You nod, but you take it as answer enough.

"She told me she's been sad without me. And that she can't be with me anymore because of it," you explain simply. Kurt nods his head as though he already knew that's what you were going to tell him. You have a feeling he did know, that Santana has told Kurt and Rachel this several times over the past few months (even though she didn't tell you), but Kurt doesn't want to get Santana in trouble or make things awkward.

"But you understand that it isn't your fault, right?" he asks gently.

You shake your head, because _no_, it was your fault. The whole situation would have been totally preventable had you not been so _stupid_. You're supposed to know Santana better than anyone else, and you let her down in the worst way possible. You were supposed to be there for her, and you abandoned her. The worst part was that you didn't even realize you were doing it.

"Brittany, it just wasn't the right time for you guys. Somethings just don't work out," he explains, and the words sound oddly familiar. You realize that Santana said them yesterday before she left, and it occurs to you that she may have sent Kurt here with these reassurances for you. Santana is always looking out for you like that.

"Yeah," you sigh, your lips pulling to one side of your mouth. "I get that. It… it still hurts, though. I just, I wasn't expecting it at all and it was so sudden-"

"Not for her," he interrupts, and his eyes widen as he realizes he's said more than he probably should have.

"What?" you ask, and he thinks for a moment before deciding to continue.

"It was sudden for you, Britt, because you were on tour, busy every minute of every day. You didn't have the time to realize what was going on with her. But honey, she was so alone. It wasn't sudden at all, for her, the sadness and the realization that she was going to have to let you go. She had to sit with it for months. It tortured her, Britt."

You're not sure what part of that was supposed to be comforting, but you're glad that he said it nonetheless. You want to know everything that you did to Santana, because later when you're alone your sadness might turn into anger, and that's the last thing you want. You don't think Santana deserves for you to be mad at her at all. Knowing why she did this will help you understand, and if you understand her you won't be angry, only sad.

Your eyes aren't as dry as you'd like them to be by the time he finishes talking. He looks at you pitifully for a moment, knowing he's gone too far, but is soon distracted when the toast pops out with a _ding!_

You eat mostly in silence, and you don't mind because you're pretty sure that you're close to breaking down again at this point and you really want to save that until after Kurt leaves.

The toast is cinnamon raisin swirl, and you try to focus on how good and familiar it tastes, like _home_, before you realize that it only feels that way because you used to eat it every morning for breakfast. Santana doesn't like cinnamon raisin bread, though, and you think that she must've gone shopping for you before she left to make sure you weren't sad and alone in the apartment with nothing to eat. You eat the rest of it quickly, shoving it into your mouth until it becomes bland, not taking the time to appreciate the flavor.

You finish first, so you get up to rinse off your dish and put it in the dishwasher yourself (you don't want to seem _completely _pathetic, after all). Kurt joins you a few moments later, and you wait by the sink while he wipes the crumbs off his plate.

"So, she just wanted me to grab some clothes for her, if you don't mind?" Kurt says, and you nod and walk towards your room.

"I already packed a bag," you explain. He mades a small, sad noise of recognition, but doesn't say anything else.

The bag is sitting on your bed, practically bursting at the seams with how many clothes it's holding.

"Just one second," you tell him, and walk around the room picking up some of her things - her contact solution, some of her hair ties, her makeup bag - and shove them inside as tightly as you can.

Kurt watches you do this, moving forward to help you zip the bag up when the zipper gets stuck on one of the shirts stuffed inside.

"Phew!" he exclaims when you finally get it closed, and you chuckle at his attempt to lighten the mood. You appreciate that he's trying, you do. You and Kurt were never very close, and it means a lot to you that he's gone out of his way for you (and Santana).

He picks up the bag and slings it over his shoulder, dramatically falling to the side at the weight of it. You look at the bed, see Santana's hoodie crumpled in with the blankets, and make a last second decision.

"Wait," you tell him, and pick up the sweatshirt. It's worn out, despite the fact that it's only two years old. You and Santana bought it the first time you visited NYU together. You wore it most of the time, but you can tell it's seen a lot of use in the year you've been gone.

"Take this too," you say, holding it out to him. His eyes land on it for a few moments, and he looks uncertainly at you when he recognizes it.

"Are you sure?" he asks, and you nod. Having it around would just make you sad, anyway, and you don't want to take one of Santana's favorite shirts away from her. There are plenty of things in the apartment to remind you of her without it.

He takes it, throwing it over his shoulder on top of the bag strap. You walk him awkwardly to the door, following behind him slowly as he waddles under the weight of the bag.

"Thank you, Britt," he says softly when you reach the door. You nod in response and lean in to give him a one-armed hug, making sure not to put any extra weight on him.

"I'll see you around. Stay in touch, alright?"

"I will," you respond, and smile sadly. "Just make sure… take care of her for me, okay? If she's sad, just… take care of her."

He nods, and you hope he'll be better at comforting her than he was at comforting you. It's one of the moments in your life you're grateful that Santana and Rachel have become such close friends, because Santana doesn't like cinnamon raisin toast and you're not sure how else Kurt could help her.

He leaves and you're not sure what to do once he's gone.

You try to watch TV, but nothing is on that doesn't remind you of her and you end up half-listening to commercials with a throw pillow pressed over your eyes. Your head hurts and you're hungry (you haven't eaten anything in the past 24 hours besides a package of airline peanuts and the toast), but you don't want to get off the couch, and you end up falling asleep without getting lunch or Advil.

* * *

You wake up in the dark with your stomach growling. You throw your legs off the couch and walk groggily into the kitchen, take a can of soup out of the cupboard, and heat it on the stove. You note that it's another one of your favorite foods, and it only confirms your suspicions about Santana preparing the house for the aftermath of her leaving you.

You eat at the table by yourself. Your apartment isn't particularly large, but you were lucky enough to be able to get one with room for a small dining table. You slurp your soup through a teaspoon, your eyes focused on the wall in front of you.

There are pictures of the two of you everywhere, and you can understand now why Kurt said it had been torture for Santana; she had to live with so many reminders of you everywhere, but never got to physically have you with her. You understand that same feeling when you spend way too long staring at one particular picture of you two, taken on the first day you moved in together. She's smiling at you out of the corner of her eyes, her nose crinkled adorably, and her arm is slung over your shoulders. You wish you could have that moment back. You were kissing her cheek, and you could feel the smile forming against your lips. It always made you feel special, having that sort of affect on Santana.

You can't help but think of how much easier this would be if what Santana had said was true, that you actually _weren't_ right for each other and that's why you needed to break up. But you know it's the farthest thing from the truth, and it hurt to hear her even say it. You were meant to be together, you always knew that. Maybe Santana didn't. Maybe that's why she's pushing you away, forcing you to leave.

You know it won't work. You know there is no one in the world you could ever love like you love her. You're meant to be, and it's as simple as that. You just hope that maybe you can make Santana see that, someday soon. You'll go on the tour, because that's what she wants you to do, but you know no matter what you won't stop loving her. Even if she doesn't want to be with you anymore, you will _always_ be hers.

You can't give up on her. You wouldn't even if you could.

* * *

You don't sleep as late the next morning. You decide you're going to try to be productive with yourself, even though you want to spend the day curled up on the couch watching Lady and the Tramp.

Santana may have gotten all of your favorite foods, but you're out of shampoo and you don't want to turn into a total slob, especially if you want to try and see her again before you leave.

You shower, and the hot water burns against your skin. You stay in there for much longer than usual, anyway.

You've never cried in a shower before, and you find the way the water immediately washes the tears off your face to be oddly comforting.

You dry yourself off and get dressed, regretting the decision to give Santana her sweater back when you have to throw on your own hoodie. It's too warm and the sleeves won't pull down around your hands like hers would.

You walk down the block to the Duane Reade on the corner. You stock up on some candy bars while you're there, knowing that the comfort food might come in handy later.

You're looking at shampoo bottles when you decide you're going to call her when you get home. Maybe one day is too soon, but you only have two weeks, and if you want to talk to her before you run out of time.

You don't know what you're going to say, exactly. But you feel like you were too much in shock last night to really understand what was going on, and you just want to understand her better. You don't want this to be happening at all, actually, though you're not sure that a phone conversation is going to change much about that. You won't give up on her, and you just want the opportunity to let her know that.

You've barely put the plastic bags down on the counter before you're pulling out your phone. You frown when she doesn't pick up, and debate between calling again and leaving a voicemail. The decision is made for you as you're still thinking about it when a loud _beep! _comes over the speaker, and it takes a few seconds before you realize you need to start talking _now_ or else this is going to sound like you're being really creepy.

"Hey, San…tana. Santana. Um, I… I just wanted to. I don't know, see if you maybe wanted to talk or something. I just… I understand if you don't want to, I just wanted to let you know that if you wanted to, I wanted to too. If you wanted." You cringe at your own awkwardness. It shouldn't be this difficult.

"Uh, okay, well that's… all I had, really. I love- I really, really miss you, Santana. Give me a call back if you can. I just want to talk. Thanks."

You hang up, wishing you knew how to delete the message and go back and rerecord it like you see in movies sometimes, but it would take you forever to figure it out without Santana and calling her back to ask her how would defeat the whole purpose.

You make yourself some lunch- a sandwich this time, which only takes slightly more effort than soup but still, it's a start.

You spend an hour or two straightening up. The apartment is nearly spotless to begin with, but you find things to make yourself busy with. Mostly, you just want a distraction, because you don't want to stop to think about what will happen if Santana doesn't call you back and you don't get to see her before you leave.

You don't want to pressure her. You don't want to put her through any more unhappiness than you already have. You just want to talk to her, to find out what's going to happen between the two of you. Your tour is only going to last four months this time around. Sure, there may be more offers after that, but you want to know where you stand with Santana before you'd even consider it.

You know that if you got offered another big gig, Santana wouldn't let you turn it down to come back and be with her again. You decide that maybe, just maybe, it might have to be your one exception to the no-lying policy you hold yourself to.

You decide to call her again when three hours go by and you haven't heard anything from her. It rings once, twice, before someone picks up.

"Hello?"

"… Rachel?"

"Yes, Brittany, it's me. Hello!" she says cheerily.

"Um, hi. Listen, I think I pressed the wrong button, I was looking for Santana," you explain. Santana had programmed all your friends into speed dial for you when you first got the phone, and Santana's number is right next to Rachel's on the small number pad.

"Actually, no. This is Santana's phone. She's asleep right now," Rachel replies.

"Oh, okay. Could you ask her to call me back? Tell her it's important." A beat passes with no response, and you feel the need to add, "Please?"

"Listen, Brittany, as Santana's friend, I'm sorry to say I don't think I can do that," she says, and you can hear the guilt in her voice. As _Santana's_ friend? She's supposed to be your friend, too, and the distinction stings.

"What?" you ask, quietly. "Why?"

"Brittany… I love you, we all do, but Santana… she's not taking this very well. I think what she really needs is some space from you right now. I don't think you should try to reach her right now. I'll be sure to tell her you called, but…"

But she won't want to call you back.

"Oh," is all you can manage to say in response. Your throat feels all tight and constricted again, and your vision is getting a little blurry. It was stupid of you to try and get her to talk to you, of course. It would only be hurting her worse at this point. You feel selfish and dumb, and you want to take back all the hope you'd given yourself in the past few hours that you could get her to take you back.

"She just…" Rachel sighs on the other end of the line. "She needs some space right now, Brittany. She's been in pain for a long time, and she just needs to find her way out of that. After that, then maybe she'll call you, but you have to understand if she doesn't it's not your fault. She just needs to try to be happy for a while."

The tears start to fall when you realize that you're not the one that can make her happy, anymore.

"Right," you say, and you can tell she knows your crying by the sad noise she makes, like she's pitying you. You want to hang up, but you don't want to seem rude. The line stays silent for a minute before she takes the hint.

"Well, Brittany, Santana is going to be up soon and I should get going. Listen, I know things are weird right now but you'll call me or Kurt if you need anything right?"

No.

"Yeah, Rachel, thank you."

You fall back onto the couch when she hangs up, and you don't move for the rest of the night except to grab the remote when your tears finally stop.

* * *

You spend the next two weeks trying to stay as active as possible, despite how awful you feel. You almost expected losing Santana to be one of those things that you could feel better about if you just set your mind to it, but it doesn't work. Nothing you can think, say, or do can make you stop thinking about how much you miss having her by your side.

You can't let yourself fall out of shape before the tour, however. It would only make your life harder, and you're pretty sure being away is going to be stressful enough, especially knowing that it's what is driving you and Santana apart.

You wonder what would really happen if you stayed. If you didn't go on the tour, would she actually refuse you if you showed up at her door? It would be too late for you to go join your fellow dancers; they'd find a replacement for you immediately. Maybe she's just trying to scare you into leaving, but she wouldn't actually turn you down if you turned up on her doorstep?

You realize that at that point you probably wouldn't know where her doorstep would even be.

You sigh heavily, strapping your iPod against your arm as you leave the apartment complex. You need to keep your cardio up, or else it'll be hard for you to get back into the swing of dancing. You get lazy when you take a break for more than a few days, so you started forcing yourself to go on runs two days after the Rachel-phone-call incident.

You're leaving tomorrow. You haven't heard anything form Santana, Rachel, or Kurt, but you guess it's better that way. You don't want to say anything to Santana that would make her feel any worse of this than she already is, and if you saw her you know you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from telling her how much you need her to not give up on you.

You're on your second mile when you see them- they're sitting outside a coffee shop, across the street. You remember vaguely that you had been there once or twice with them, whenever you'd been in Rachel's neighborhood. You didn't even realize that you were getting close to the large apartment that she shares with another NYADA student, but apparently that's where your mindless jogging had led you.

Kurt sees you first. His eyes widen, but he doesn't say anything to draw attention to you. Rachel glances up at you, but quickly pulls her gaze away, focusing instead on Santana, keeping her engaged in conversation and keeping her from noticing you.

She looks good. Tired, yeah, but good. She's wearing the sweatshirt, the one you've been missing so much the past two weeks, and her hair is tied back in a low ponytail. It's exactly how you'd been expecting to find her when you'd walked in that night, and you try to memorize the image.

You know that you can't go say anything- it'd do too much damage, both to you and to her. You felt horrible for days about calling her like that. It was a stupid decision, and you were just trying to make yourself feel better without realizing what you could be doing to Santana. You don't know when you started putting your needs in front of hers, but you try to excuse it as too little sleep and too much heartbreak to be making rational decisions.

You can't seem to move your feet. Kurt is trying not to be obvious in the way he's looking at you, and it's not until you feel a buzz in your pocket that you realize you're the one he was texting when his eyes dropped from yours to his phone.

_What are you doing? _it reads.

You realize how ridiculous you must look, standing there. You take a step backwards so you can pace a little and not look like you're creeping on them. You type back: _nothing, sorry, I just wasn't expecting to see her._

_Are you ok? _comes the immediate response.

You see Santana look at Kurt and chuckle, and if you know her, she's making fun of him. Kurt pretends to hide his phone bashfully before texting you again.

_You should get going. I'm sorry, B. Do you want to call me later? _

You nod to him, knowing that you probably won't take him up on the offer, and he smiles tightly.

Santana almost turns around, and you think she might have noticed that Kurt's been staring at something behind her for the past few minutes, but you can hear Rachel loudly exclaiming something to distract her. You put your headphones back in, continuing on your run. Even though you know you can usually run for much longer, your legs begin to ache the further they carry you away from her.

* * *

You pack your things into a suitcase that night. Your flight is early the next morning, and you set your alarm for 5:30 a.m.

You can't fall asleep right away- nerves or the emptiness of the bed, something is keeping you awake and you groan in frustration.

By the time your alarm rings you've only gotten a few spotty hours of sleep, and you're exhausted. You make yourself a cup of coffee, even though you've never been able to make a good, strong pot on your own, and drink it, hoping it'll help you get ready on time.

You run a brush through your hair and change, pick up your bag from where you left it outside your bedroom door, and take one last look around the apartment.

The next time you're back in this place, Santana's things will all be gone.

This is going to be the last time it'll really look like _home_ to you, and you soak in as much of it as you can before walking out, double locking the door behind you.


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N:** Next chapter, we'll move on, both time-wise and plot-wise. Hold tight. Also follow me on Tumblr if you want updates on what I'm doing, previews of the chapter, or just to talk to me about all the Brittana/Glee things!

**iam-your-opus . tumblr . com**

p.s. All mistakes are mine, as I do not have a beta. Corrections and the like are very much appreciated!

* * *

Santana

* * *

You show up at Rachel's apartment just before ten p.m. You could have taken a cab, but you walked the whole way there instead. You didn't trust yourself not to break down, alone in the dark backseat of a taxi. You're pretty sure you get lost in your thoughts a few times along the way, because Rachel doesn't live more than twenty minutes by foot and it takes you almost an hour to get there, but you don't care. On the streets, you walked with you head held high, your best poker face on, preserving your strength if only for a few more minutes.

It doesn't last for more than ten seconds once Rachel opens the door. She takes a few minutes to answer your incessant knocking, and when the door finally swings open you can see why. She's in a robe, and her face is wet, with splotches of cream dotting her skin. You've interrupted her nightly routine, and you make a mental note to apologize later, before you begin to cry.

She knows what's wrong immediately. She was the one who was there for you, after all, when you realized what you were going to have to do when Brittany got back. She had tried her hardest to try and think of a way to keep the two of you together, but eventually accepted that this was for the best, for both of you. She offered her apartment to you right away, and thank _god_, because you're pretty sure you couldn't have survived the next two weeks on the couch with Brittany crying in the next room.

Rachel pulls you into her arms, and you're grateful for her terrycloth robe as your tears fall into her shoulder.

"There, there," she says as she pats your back, and you resist the urge to swat at her for being so cliche. You remember how thankful you are to have her as a friend, however, when her arms tighten around you as you begin to sob.

She guides you forward, shutting the door behind you, and keeps her arm against your back as she ushers you into her living room. The apartment is small, way smaller than yours, but you've spent so much time here in the past months when your apartment was empty and lonely, that its close walls have transformed from cramped into cosy.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asks, once you've settled into the couch. You take a moment before shaking your head.

You don't want to talk about it, not right now.

Right now, you want some wine.

She chuckles darkly when you tell her as much, and she asks if you would mind if she called Kurt to see if he could come over. You tell her you'd like that, and she leaves the room and returns with a large bottle of red, announcing that Kurt will be there in ten.

You stare at the ceiling as you wait for him, and you're surprised that your glass is empty by the time you hear the doorbell ring. You don't remember drinking the wine, but as you stand to move towards the door, you definitely can begin to feel its effects.

"Oh, honey," he says when Rachel opens the door and he sees you behind her. "Did you do it?"

You nod, and he makes a face that's a cross between a frown and a pout.

"Oh, honey," he repeats, and the next thing you know both of them are on you, hugging you from either side. You've never been particularly physically affectionate with either of them, and your initial reaction is to pull away, but you find yourself hugging them back.

* * *

You're halfway done with the bottle of wine when Rachel asks: "Did you pack a bag?"

You nearly want to hit yourself it's so stupid, because _Jesus_, Santana, you spent hours alone at home this afternoon, trying not to think of what you were going to have to do later. The least you could have done was to pack a bag.

"Fuck," you swear, and Kurt laughs. He's been enjoying the wine with you, too. Rachel has class the next morning, and has resigned herself to cranberry juice instead of alcohol.

No, really though, _fuck_, you realize a second later, because Brittany is probably going to be home the entire two weeks before she leaves and you would literally buy an entire closet full of clothes before borrowing anything from _Berry's_ wardrobe to wear in public.

"I can see if I can pick up some of your stuff tomorrow?" Kurt offers, and you want to kiss him.

They're both being so good to you, and you know you don't deserve it. You're the one that fucked this up- they should be over there, helping Brittany, but they're here holding you together. You don't feel right about it, at all, but there's nothing you can do to stop it.

The three of you end up watching trashy TV shows all night long. Kurt and Rachel keep up a commentary, trying to make you smile, but mostly you try to block everything out as you sit in the corner and stare into the bottom of your glass.

* * *

"I can't believe I broke up with her," you say, tearfully. You don't know how much you've had to drink or what time it is, but Rachel went to bed long ago and it's just you and Kurt, sitting on the couch, resting your heads against each other's shoulders. It's been silent for a while, and you're not sure if he's fallen asleep, but he sighs when he hears your words and straightens up, turning to look at you.

"Do you regret it?" he asks.

You don't know.

"I feel so selfish," you explain. "I shouldn't have done any of this. I just… didn't know what I was getting myself into. She wanted to stay, she didn't want to go on tour. Have I told you that?" Kurt nods. "She wanted to stay and I made her go and now I couldn't handle the distance. I'm awful," you conclude, and Kurt wraps his arm around your shoulder to comfort you.

Your eyes are blurry from hours of tears and wine and your contacts are still in even though it's at least three in the morning. You're crying again now, you think. You don't bother to check.

"You aren't awful. You're human. You love Brittany, and she loves you, but life got in the way," he tries to explain, but you shake your head.

"Life has always gotten in the way for us. I've always fought for her. I fought for her so hard but now I feel like I just don't have a choice and I've hurt her so badly. You should have seen her face, Kurt, she... I fought for her, I made her fall in love with me, and now I'm just leaving her and she thinks its all her fucking fault and I, I j-just-"

You know you're crying now, because you break off into a sob.

"I don't want this," you say sadly. You must sound pathetic, because he lets out a long sigh.

"I know, honey," he says, rubbing soft circles against your arms. "I know."

* * *

You wake up and your back hurts. You try to open your eyes, but it's bright (_so _bright), so you end up squinting instead. You go to throw your hand over your eyes to block the light when you hear hushed voices in the hall.

"How was Brittany?"

"She seemed… well, she wasn't as bad as Santana. She had been crying before I got there, but she had it together. She seemed to really understand what I was saying about it not being her fault, and she was just concerned with making sure Santana is all right. I think she might be coming to terms with it faster than we all expected."

"What makes you say that?"

"She gave me this."

"She just… gave it to you? Did she explain?"

"No. Do you think it means anything?"

"Wow. I don't know. Should we tell her?"

You feel awkward, because now they're talking about you but don't know you're listening. Then again, they shouldn't have been trying to hide anything from you in the first place.

"Mh, tell me what?" you ask, rolling over on the couch and trying to make your voice sound sleepy, as if you haven't been awake this entire time. Kurt is holding something behind his back, and Rachel is smiling at you.

"Oh, nothing. Kurt just got back from you- Brittany's place. He got your bag!" Rachel said, grabbing the duffel from Kurt's feet and holding it up.

"Wow, Hummel, I'm surprised. None of these outfits are completely outrageous. Good job," you remark, sifting through the contents of the bag. A lot of the clothes are what you wear on a daily basis- comfortable things that you can wear to class. Kurt always looked appalled if you wore anything too casual outside of the apartment. You even made the mistake of wearing sweatpants to a lecture, once. He lectured you later that day when you met up for lunch.

"Actually, Brittany packed the bag for you," Kurt says, and your head snaps up in surprise. No wonder the bag was packed perfectly. Even though she had been away for a year, Brittany obviously hadn't forgotten how you liked to dress. Still, why would she do that for you?

"Uh… she also… she gave me this."

Kurt is holding out a rumpled ball, and it takes you a moment to recognize it.

It's the sweater.

Brittany gave you back the fucking sweater.

You don't know why you thought she would have wanted to keep it, but something about seeing it here makes your heart ache. It was your sweater, sure, but Brittany had always stolen it from you, wearing it at every opportunity. You asked her why, once. She told you it felt like she was carrying a little piece of your love with her everywhere she went. She said it smelled like you, even months after you had stopped wearing it and it had become hers. You told her it was impossible, but she insisted.

You understood why once she left. You wore that sweater many times over her year-long absence, and every time you felt like you could feel her there with you, even if it was just a little bit.

You don't want the goddamn sweater back. Maybe you should just throw it out.

You reach forward and grab it out of Kurt's hands, intending to throw it in the pile with your other things, but the second you grab it, you can feel it: Brittany. You can sense that she's worn it since you last have, and it makes you even sadder. You can see her, wearing your sweatshirt and crying, and it reminds you of how mad you are at yourself for all of this.

You tuck the hoodie between your arms and your chest and squeeze, resisting the urge to bury your face in the soft fabric in hopes of feeling her there with you.

"I'm sorry," you hear Kurt say quietly. You nod, lying back down against the couch cushions, and close your eyes.

* * *

You spend most of the weekend sleeping instead of grieving. It turns out to be a bad idea when you're forced to be conscious come Monday. You have class, and even though you go and mindlessly take notes, you don't end up paying attention to what the professor is talking about. He's a real life Professor Binns, and you have no chance of following anything he's saying if you're the least bit distracted.

Brittany had called you Saturday morning. You didn't answer, not because you didn't want to talk to her, but because you didn't know what to say. You listened to her voicemail over and over, heard her stumbling over your name and how foreign it sounded for her message not to be riddled with love.

You've considered calling her back so many times since then, but you know you have to stick to your guns on this one. You know if you go back on what you said, if you get back together with her and she goes on tour, that it could end up hurting even worse. You might not be able to handle the distance anymore, and you're not sure if you could break up with Brittany twice, for both your and her sake.

And you won't let her quit her job for you. Brittany is a star. She doesn't know it yet, but you certainly do, and you can't let her give up on that. Especially not just to be with you.

* * *

You make your way through classes the entire week this way. You sleep on Rachel's couch every night, and your back is starting to hurt all day long now. You're tired, in pain, and miserable, and you just want to go_ home_ and curl up into a ball, but you can't let yourself do that for at least another week and a half. You know you promised Brittany you'd be out of there right away, but you at least have until she gets back from tour to move out. Come to think of it, you don't actually know how long this next one is going to be. You make a mental note to see if Kurt can get that information for you.

You pass by the apartment a couple of times on your way to Rachel's apartment. Every night, you see the lights on in the windows and you think about going and talking to her. It's nice to know, at the very least, that she's _there_, even if you can't go be with her.

Friday night, the windows are dark. It's strange, because even though it's well past dark outside, it's not yet late enough that Brittany would have gone to bed. You don't know how to feel about the idea that she may be out right now, hanging out with friends, and not in anywhere near as much pain as you are. In a way, you prefer it that way.

You make a last minute decision when you've walked just half a block past the apartment. You glance up at the windows one more time, making sure that you definitely had the right ones and no one is home, before spinning on your heel, walking up to the apartment, and using your key to open the door.

Brittany packed a lot of your clothes in that bag, and you're super grateful, but you know it won't last forever and you'd like to be able to grab the stuff yourself while you're here.

It's surreal, walking into the apartment. She hasn't changed anything at all. If you were her, you would have taken down the pictures, rearranged the furniture. At the very least, you would have moved her shoes away from the door. But you're still smiling down from the walls, and your Converse are haphazardly laying in the hallway.

You make your way into the bedroom, trying to gather as much information about what Brittany has been doing as possible along the way. There are movie cases scattered on the coffee table in the living room, next to a box of tissues. Nothing has been tidied since you left- the blankets are shoved in a corner of the couch, and some of your bedroom pillows are propped against the arm of it. It's obvious she's been spending a lot of time in here, and you don't know what to make of that.

Your room is much cleaner than the living room. The bed is made, and nothing is out of place. It seems so normal it makes your heart break just a little bit more.

Brittany's journal is sitting in plain sight on her nightstand. You take several moments staring at it, wishing it would magically fall open and you could accidentally see its pages. It's the only way you'd ever get to read its contents, after all. You'd never invade Britt's privacy like that.

You grab a few more of your shirts, the important ones that Brittany overlooked or simply didn't know about. You put them in one of your tote bags that you pull from out of your closet. You try to take mostly t-shirts, things that will fold up small to fit into your bag. You end up getting about five of them in there before the thing is visibly stuffed. You figure it's enough for now.

You walk into the kitchen. Theres a notepad lying on the counter, the one you used to use to keep track of groceries, and you notice Brittany's been doodling on it. Most people like to read things absentmindedly while they eat their breakfast (backs of cereal boxes, magazines, newspapers). Brittany likes to draw. You miss her childlike innocence and how it made your world a brighter place.

You flip the page over and grab the pen off the counter. You don't know what to write, but you feel like it'd be creepy if you just broke into the house without telling her.

_Brittany_,

_I stopped by to pick up a few more things. I was hoping you'd be home so I could get to say goodbye, but I guess this note will have to do instead. I hope you do well on your tour. Please keep Rachel or Kurt updated on what you're doing. One of them might stop by during the week for a few more of my things._

_I'm sorry I never returned your phone call. I didn't know what to say._

_I miss you, too._

_Santana_

It feels awkward and insincere, and you end up ripping it from the pad and crumpling it in a little ball in your fist. She isn't going to notice any of your things missing, anyway. You realize how cruel it might seem to her that you would dodge her calls, not call her back, and show up at the apartment when she's not there leaving behind nothing but a note. You don't want that.

You decide it'd be better if she never knew you were here. You grab your bag, step carefully over your shoes in the hall, and lock the door behind you as you leave.

* * *

You've been dreading looking at apartments this whole week, but Rachel is finally forcing you to.

"It's not that I want you gone," she explained. "I just think it would be really beneficial for you to get out, start making a home for yourself again, you know?"

_A home without Brittany…_ your add in your mind, but you nod anyway.

You're out to coffee with them at Rachel's favorite spot. She's brought at least five newspapers with her, and she's pouring over the apartment listings. She scoffed at you when you weren't looking for yourself, but you just told her she was going to be such a control freak about it anyway that anything that you found wouldn't be good enough for her.

You appreciate the fact that you can still tease Rachel even though you're much closer now. Your friendship would have gotten very boring by now otherwise.

Kurt is staring at his phone, concentrating on texting someone. You make like you're going to peer over the top of his phone to see the conversation, but mostly you're just joking around. He swats your hand away, and you can't help but laugh. You haven't seen him so involved in a text conversation since him and Blaine broke up, and you can't help but say: "Trying to set up a hot date for tonight?"

Kurt rolls his eyes at you, but goes back to typing on his phone. You frown.

"C'mon, Berry needs your help picking out my apartment. I need my gay best friend, she could pick out something absolutely hideous."

An eyebrow is quirked in your direction, but he puts the phone down after that.

"You know, you could avoid that if maybe you helped look yourself," he comments, but you aren't listening at that point. Someone on the other side of the street has caught your eye.

"Is that… Brittany?" you ask, half standing in your chair to get a better look. Whoever it is, you can only see them from behind, but you've gotten pretty good at know exactly what Brittany looks like at practically any angle…

"No, no, it couldn't be. Oh, look at this one!" Kurt says, pointing to a random listening on the page. You glance down for a moment, only for long enough to see that he's pointing at a four bedroom apartment on the other side of town. When you look up, the girl has turned a corner.

You sigh. Brittany is leaving tomorrow, and even though you've sworn off talking to her, the thought of seeing her excited you. You're not as pathetic as you were two weeks ago (you get out of bed on a daily basis, now). But you still cry yourself to sleep most nights, and anytime something reminds you too much of her you often have to excuse yourself for a minute.

"She's leaving tomorrow, huh?"

It's Rachel who says it, and you can see the glare that Kurt shoots her way. Kurt has been trying to let you live in a bubble where Brittany doesn't exist. You know he's just looking out for you, but you don't think you're going to get over her by pretending you never knew her in the first place.

You nod slowly, your eyes not leaving the newspaper in front of you.

"Are you going to say goodbye?"

You shake you head.

"We've already said our goodbyes, Rachel."

She sighs audibly.

"That doesn't count, really. You were all emotional, you had just broken up. You should say goodbye to her properly. At least send her a text or something. God only knows when you'll get to again."

You can't help but roll your eyes at your friends dramatic attitude.

"Rachel, she's leaving for four months, she's not dropping off the face of the planet. I'll be much more ready to talk to her when she gets back," you say, even though you're not entirely sure that it's true. In a perfect world, you'd be able to be friends with Brittany even if you're not in a relationship anymore. Scratch that, in a perfect world you would never have had to leave her in the first place. Oh well.

Rachel shrugs, but knows that you don't want to discuss it any further. She's gotten a lot better at not intentionally pushing peoples' buttons since you all moved out to New York.

You keep your eyes trained on the street anyway, waiting to see if the girl would reappear, but she never does.

* * *

If you thought picking up a bag of your things from the apartment was surreal, this beats it by at least tenfold. You have as many cardboard boxes as you could scavenge up between the three of you, and you're collecting all the things that belong to you and throwing them haphazardly into a pile for Rachel to sort through. You try to leave as many commonly shared things as you can behind (pots, pans, etc.). You can always buy more later. Your family was always much better off than Brittany's, and you've barely put a dent in your mother's money between your own job and financial aid.

You pack your movies and your CDs, because you're anticipating spending many lonely nights in this apartment. You grab your books, too, and roll up a few of the posters that you've had since you were a teenager. You pack the rest of your clothes into two suitcases that Rachel and Kurt lent you.

You found a place that is actually on the same block as Kurt's apartment. Rachel will be moving in with him after the semester is over, so you're really excited that you'll get to be so close to your friends. Overall, your space is smaller, but it's separated into more rooms, so you feel like you have a lot more to work with. Plus, it's going to be just you in the small apartment, and you're pretty sure you don't take up that much space.

You were hoping that Brittany had maybe left something for you, a note, anything to acknowledge that you were going to be in the apartment, moving your things out, but no such luck. You suppose you can't blame her after not leaving a note when you visited. You pray she didn't notice you were there, because you're pretty sure knowing that would have hurt her feelings, no matter what the justification.

All in all, it only take you about an hour and a half to get all your stuff. Rachel made sure that all your boxes were securely taped and properly labeled. Rachel has a friend with a car, and he's offered to help you drive your boxes over to the new place. Rachel drives with him in the car, and you and Kurt take the subway because the boxes take up so much of the seating space.

By the time you meet them there, the stuff is already unloaded out of the car and they've brought a few boxes up. Well, at least, Rachel's man-friend has. Rachel is sitting at the bottom of the stairs, "watching over your belongings." You and Kurt pitch in, and you have the rest of your things upstairs within three trips. The friend excuses himself afterwards, and you try your best to seem sincere when you thank him. You've always had trouble with that.

You don't have much. You have an air mattress that Rachel is letting you borrow to sleep on until your real bed gets delivered next week, and you have pillows strewn about the floor in place of a couch. You bought styrofoam cups, just for this occasion, and you laugh when Rachel pulls out a cheap bottle of wine from 7-11.

"The epitome of class," you comment, after you all toast with your styrofoam cups.

"Bleck, this taste like grape juice," Kurt says, sticking out his tongue. Rachel hums in appreciation, finishing the rest of her drink in one long sip.

"It's delicious!" she exclaims, and you and Kurt roll your eyes.

You decide to order a pizza, and they stick around for a couple more hours after you've polished off the pie.

When they leave, you take a moment to really look at your new home. The walls are white, bare, with the occasional crack near the ceiling. It has a kitchen, a combined living room and dining room, a bedroom, a full bathroom, and a small nook where you can keep a desk and a bookshelf. All in all, the amount of space is perfect for you. The floor is wooden, old but still shiny, which you like. You have an ragged rug that you think will go great in the living room area, and you're glad you won't have to buy a very big table for the dining room, because otherwise people would be eating with their backs pressed against the wall (since it'll probably just be the three of you, a small table will do just fine.)

The bedroom is small. It doesn't have very much closet space, which sucks, because you have a lot of clothes. You figure you'll have to get a wardrobe of some sort to fit it all, but you're not sure how that's going to work in the small space either.

You change into your pajamas, wanting to get as comfortable as possible in your new place.

You decide you might want to get a full-sized bed instead of a queen, because the queen air mattress you've blown up nearly takes up the entire room. You flop onto it, laughing at the cheap quality as you nearly hit the ground on the first bounce. You never thought you'd be saying this, but you miss Rachel's couch.

You sigh before pulling out your phone. You stare at it. You know you shouldn't, but you can't help it as you unlock the screen, punching a familiar number into your text message box. It's only polite to let the person you've been living with that you officially no longer live with them, right?

_Hey, just letting you know I'm all moved out. I found an apartment near Kurt's._

Your words seem a bit too conversational for your liking, but you send it anyway. Your heart races as you wait for a response, and you exhale a sigh of relief when your phone buzzes not a minute later, Brittany's name appearing on the screen.

_Oh. Do you like it?_

You type out, _yes, _but before you get to send it your phone is buzzing again.

_Are you happy?_

You pull your lip between your teeth before pressing send without changing the message. You don't specify which question you were answering, but Brittany responds anyway.

_I'm glad. I miss you._

Her admission brings tears to your eyes. You feel so happy just to see those words, and you hate yourself for it. You'll be breaking her heart for nothing if you've left her and you aren't able to get over it. It would all be worthless.

_You too, Brittany._ You respond. It feels cold, and she doesn't send anything else afterwards.

You let your phone drop to your side, and don't move from that spot again, sinking into sleep, surrounded by the familiar sounds of the city, as the air mattress deflates slowly beneath you.

* * *

**A/N2:** As I mentioned in the other A/N, the next chapter will bring some pretty big changes. We'll be moving forward in time, and I guess that's when we'll be starting on the actual plot for this story.

Like I said, this story was originally just a one-shot, but I think I've worked something out. Just be patient with me!

Reviews will always be appreciated. Even the bad ones (which I did get a few of last chapter. I heard your complaints! You have not been ignored!). If you leave me a conversational review I will definitely reply, and I will always always always reply to asks on my tumblr, **i****am-your-opus . tumblr . com! **

Thanks for the great response to this story, guys. I wouldn't have ever thought of continuing it without it, so. Keep it up. I love you.


	4. Chapter Four

**A/N:** SO MUCH ANGST GOING ON IN THE FANDOM RIGHT NOW, KIDS. That being said, I would like to assure you that Brittana is endgame, both in the show and in this fic. We're just… going through some character building. Together. Right? They're testing us. They're making us stronger as a fandom and making us love them as a couple more. This too shall pass, and standing in the light at the end of the tunnel there will be beautiful Brittana babies everywhere and everything will be marshmallows and unicorns and sunshine. Okay?

I'm sorry for my ramblings. Here's the latest. Try your hardest not to get mad at Santana. You'll get her perspective next chapter. Though if you are feeling angry or upset or any range of emotions, feel free to talk to me about it on here or on my Tumblr. If you wanna be scared for next week with me, or want to come comfort me the closer we get to next Thursday, please don't be afraid to leave me an ask or a message. I love talking to people, I promise. ESPECIALLY about Brittana. Come be my friend. :)

This will be kind of fast moving, because it's a sort of "in-between" time. I'm not really too happy with this chapter. I could probably really use a beta to discuss ideas with, if anyone would be up for it.

**iam-your-opus . tumblr . com**

* * *

Brittany

* * *

You aren't happy on the tour. You were hoping that you'd be so distracted again that you'd forget about what had happened enough to be happy. Isn't that what happened last time?

Now she's all that's on your mind. For the first month, you hold this romantic belief that she's going to show up one night after one of your performances, tell you that you danced beautifully and kiss you. She doesn't, of course, and every once in a while you'll come to your senses and realize how _silly_ that idea is. Still, it's usually one of the last thoughts on your mind before you fall asleep every night.

You make friends with some of the dancers, but you don't tell them about Santana. You think you'd eventually start crying if they asked you what had happened, and you don't want them to think you're weird. Instead, you keep to yourself. You go out with them when they invite you, make polite conversation and laugh at their jokes. They call you a sweetheart and some of them even get your number and text you when they're bored about boys or the routines or plans for that night. You're glad you have friends, but you don't feel any sort of emotional connection to them.

One of the guys, Charlie, likes you. You can tell because he always volunteers to be your partner during all the shows, and texts you just to talk the most out of any of your friends. At first you thought that maybe he just liked the way you dance or wanted to be closer with you, but then you went out with him and a few of the other dancers after a show one night. You went to a bar, and Charlie got a little drunk. He flirted with you and kept his arm around the back of your chair the entire evening. He told you he thought you were beautiful and asked you to dance.

You miss being able to push guys like that off with an "I have a girlfriend." Still, Charlie isn't a bad guy and he isn't being outright flirtatious, you've just always had a sense for when people were starting to get more than friendly towards you. If he made a move, you'd reject him, obviously. For now, you weren't going to put yourself at odds with the only people keeping your sane on tour by telling him to back off.

Instead, you just tell him that you're tired from that night's show. He says he'll get you next time, and you don't tell him no.

* * *

A few nights later, you get a text from Santana. You weren't really expecting her to contact you, with the way things left off. You had decided that if you hadn't heard from her by the end of the second month, you'd contact her yourself. But, your phone is buzzing in your hand barely two weeks after you left for tour, and your heart is racing when you see Santana's name on the screen.

It sinks a moment later.

She's moved out. She is just texting you to let you know. She's found an apartment near Kurt, which you're glad for. It's good she's staying close to Rachel and Kurt. It means that Kurt can make good on his promise to take care of her for you.

You text her back and ask if she likes her new place. You get angry with yourself the second you press send, because that isn't _really_ what you want to know. You're talking to Santana for the first time in _weeks_ and you're asking her silly questions, and god only knows how long she's going to carry a conversation with you for. You should be asking her something important while you have the chance.

_Are you happy?_ you type instead, and send it immediately. A little check mark appears next to it, and you know she's received it. You wait nervously for a reply, before you phone vibrates again.

_Yes, _it says simply, and you're not sure whether or not she's replying to your first question or your second one. You wait another full minute before deciding that that was the only answer you'd be receiving from her, no matter which question it was answering.

_I'm glad, _you write out, and go to press send. Your finger hovers over the button. You figure this will be the end of your conversation, because she didn't really want to _talk_ to you. She was just being polite, as your ex-roommate, and letting you know she'd found a new place. You don't know when the next time you'll get to talk to her is, and you don't want to waste this.

_I miss you, _you add, and before you have time to second-guess yourself you press the send button.

You're nervous. You don't want to make her feel awkward or sad because of your admission, but you want her to know it _so_ badly that you just couldn't help but say it. You regret it when she responds.

_You too, Brittany._

She uses your full name. She rarely ever does that, especially not when saying something sweet and sincere, like "I love you," or "I miss you." But then again, that isn't what she said. All you got was a "you too."

You drop your phone onto your bed before burying yourself into your pillow.

Maybe she just doesn't want to give you false hope. Maybe she's already forgotten about you. You don't know, but the distance in her text brings tears to your eyes. That night you don't fall asleep with hopeful fantasies.

* * *

You're glad when your friends invite you out again a few days later, because you've been spending the past few nights re-watching sad movies and eating junk food.

You drink more than you probably should, and you feel bad, because you _know_ you shouldn't be drinking your problems away. You decide that just this once it wouldn't be so bad, and besides, Charlie is buying all your drinks for you anyway.

You're out on the dance floor before you realize that this really _was_ a bad idea, because Charlie is out there with you and you had sworn off dancing with him. You don't want to lead him on, after all. But you're having fun, or at least in your drunken state it feels like you are, and Charlie is _such_ a good dancer, and almost as much fun to dance with as Mike Chang.

Charlie has his hands on your hips when you realize that this was a _really_ bad idea. You know you don't think when you're dancing, you just move, and you keep forgetting that you can't be this way with him. He won't understand that for you, a dance is just a dance. He thinks that there's something more behind this.

He proves you right when he leans in to kiss you. His lips are barely grazing against yours before you're stumbling backwards, away from him, excusing yourself to the bathroom. You pass the group of your friends in tears. Ani, your closest friend out of all of them, looks concerned, and you think you see her trailing behind her as you push open the door to the ladies room.

You're sitting on the bench in the corner when she walks in. She looks around the room quickly before her eyes settle on you, and she smiles sympathetically. You know you have tears streaming down your face and your makeup must be ruined, but you don't care.

She sits down next to you and her hand falls against your back, as she starts to rub soothing circles. You bury your face in your hands, trying to hide your tears and your embarrassment.

"What's wrong, Britt?" she asks gently. You don't know what to say. There's so much wrong. You're drunk, and Santana broke up with you, and you're hundreds of miles away from her and your only friends are now going to hate you because you've just freaked out on one of them for trying to kiss you when you _know_ you were probably leading him on.

All that comes out is a sob.

She makes all the right noises, telling you "it's okay" and shushing you when you start to cry louder. She rubs your back until your sobs subside, and then raises her hand up to play with your hair gently.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" she asks.

"Charlie tried to kiss me," you say, and she looks confused. Of course she's confused. A cute guy trying to kiss you isn't usually a reason for a mental breakdown in the women's room.

"Is that a bad thing?" she asks cautiously, and you shrug. You don't want to go into detail. You're hoping to maybe get out of this with your friendships still intact, and you don't want them to see you as this broken girl who needs fixing. They shouldn't feel responsible for you, and you're pretty sure they wouldn't want to bring you out to bars and clubs with them if they did.

"C'mon, why don't you give Charlie a shot? He's a really nice guy, and you _can't_ tell me you don't think he's cute," she says, nudging your shoulder. You chuckle even though you're still crying a little bit.

"I just got out of a really long relationship…" you say, and Ani arches an eyebrow.

"So you're not denying that you think he's cute," she taunts, and you roll your eyes. "A long relationship, huh? You need to move on then, Britt. I'm sure he is."

"I'm still in love with her," you answer, shrugging.

"You're gay?" She raises her eyebrows.

"Well that explains a lot," Ani says, trying to make a joke out of it. You want to correct her, to tell her you're actually bisexual, but you don't bother. Maybe telling your friends you're gay will make things easier with Charlie, anyway.

"Because Charlie is one fine man."

You smile weakly but don't respond. You think you've just made things awkward for her by the way she brushes it off, but she scoots closer to you and wraps her arm around your shoulder.

"It'll be okay, Britt," she says, squeezing you tightly. You stay that way for a minute more before she moves to get up, holding her hand out to you.

"C'mon, let's fix your makeup and get you back out there," Ani says as she pulls you up. She pulls a couple of things out of her purse before fixing your face up, and you're so grateful for her because by the time she pulls away the only noticeable thing is that your eyes are a little red.

Charlie apologizes when you walk outside, coming up to meet you almost immediately.

You tell him it's okay, and he starts to say something else before Ani interrupts him saying, "She plays for the other team!" She pulls you away giggling, and you can't help but laugh with her at the dumbfounded look on Charlie's face.

* * *

By the time you leave the tour, you know you've made some lifelong friends. As it turns out, Charlie is a great guy when he's not hitting on you. You bond over a lot, and a month into the tour he starts to date Jessica, another one of the girls in your group.

Ani is super supportive, and you even talk to her about Santana a few times. She becomes your bunkmate, and you share a hotel room as you travel from city to city. One particularly tearful night, you tell her your and Santana's whole story, starting from when you first met and ending on the day she left you. Even Ani's eyes are damp by the end of it.

Ani lives in the city, too, but isn't going back right away. She has another gig lined up only two days after this one ends. You have another tour planned for two months from now, but you haven't made any final decisions yet. You want to talk to Santana first.

Ani flies home with you, and you share a taxicab to your separate apartments. She squeezes you tightly before you get out of the car, and you promise to Skype her sometime soon.

You haven't heard from Santana for the rest of the time you've been gone. You've called Rachel a few times while you were away, just to see how they're all doing, but she didn't have much information for you. She's in a new show, and still attending school. She's extremely busy between the two, but says she's been able to take care of Santana.

She said that Santana isn't doing much, just going to school and singing. There's a note of hesitancy in her voice that makes you nervous. You press her for more information, but she tells you that Santana is doing just fine, but that she doesn't want to invade Santana's privacy by telling you the details.

You walk up the stairs to your apartment, dreading the time you're going to spend inside of those walls. You'd consider moving, but you know you don't have the money and it seems like it'd be overdramatic.

Still, you can't help the tears that fill your eyes when you open the door and everything is quiet inside. Even in just the hallway, it no longer feels the same.

You walk through the empty apartment, noting the changes. She's taken a lot of her things, but then again, they were _hers_. She's left you with a lot of things that you know she shouldn't have because she bought them, but you're grateful. Your family isn't particularly rich, and dancing pays enough to live on, but not enough to furnish an apartment with.

The last time you arrived home from a tour you were terribly surprised, and you're disappointed to find exactly what you were expecting when you walk in this time.

You pull your suitcase into your bedroom. The place is dusty, and you make a mental note to clean it tomorrow.

Santana's closet is completely emptied out, and you're regretting the decision you made to give her back her sweatshirt.

You walk into the kitchen. You open the cabinets, but immediately feel stupid when you realize there's no food. No one's been grocery shopping here in four months, after all.

You end up finding an unopened box of Lucky Charms and eating it dry for lunch, sitting on the couch. You mindlessly watch television, ignoring the bag that needs unpacking and the rooms that need cleaning as you let your thoughts melt away.

* * *

It's late afternoon by the time you decide you need to do something more. You call Rachel, but she doesn't answer. You frown. You want to know what Santana's doing, now that you're back. You want to meet with her, to talk to her. You decide that there's no harm in calling her yourself, now that she's had four months to deal with the breakup.

You punch in her number and press send before you have time to come up with a reason why you shouldn't be doing this, though you're sure you could think of plenty. It's ringing, and you're dreading it going to voicemail again when someone picks up.

"Hello?"

It's a woman's voice. You don't recognize it. You hang up. You look down at your phone to double check the number, but Santana's smiling face is staring back up at you. You had dialed correctly, so who the _hell_ was that?

You don't call back again after that. You tell yourself that it's because you don't want to pester her, but really you're just scared, now, of what that voice meant on the other end of the line.

You spend the rest of the day taking down all the photos of the two of you. You put them in a box and shove it inside Santana's closet. You don't tape it shut—you're pretty sure that there will be many times that you'll sit there, looking through your old memories.

You buy a new brand of laundry detergent at the store on the corner and clean all of the sheets and blankets, hoping to wash the smell of her away before you have to spend the night surrounded in it.

There are still the little things that you'll be finding for weeks, of course. The bottle of her shampoo in the shower, or one of her shoes left forgotten, under the bed. But you do your best to make the apartment bearable, because as much as you love Santana, you can't be reminded of her every minute you're home. You just don't have the heart for it.

* * *

By some crazy chance, you end up spotting Santana barely a week into your two months at home.

You're at one of your favorite restaurants, a few blocks down from your apartment. You're here by yourself, for now. You're supposed to be meeting some friends here to catch up in twenty minutes, but you arrived early and figured that you could get a seat and order some drinks and appetizers ahead of time.

You don't know if it was a cruel twist or fate or a blessing from the gods, but it doesn't matter to you either way because there she is, sitting across the restaurant that you have just walked into.

There she is and she's smiling at another girl who's sitting across from her. It is so heartbreakingly beautiful that you don't know whether to laugh or cry. It's everything you've missed about her, the warmth and caring and love, and it hurts you to see that she's smiling _that_ smile at someone else.

It is _that_ smile, isn't it? Your smile, the one she had only for you? After all, you could be mistaken. Maybe it's just because you haven't seen her smile in so long that you can't seem to draw your eyes away. You're far away, but you can practically feel its radiance from across the restaurant. Everything about Santana was always blinding to you.

You stand near the bar while you wait for your friends. You're torn between going up and talking to her and staying here, where you're safe. She makes that decision for you when she catches your eyes a few minutes later. She looks like she excuses herself from the girl's company before standing up and walking towards you.

"Brittany?"

"Santana," you reply. You can't help but smile. She looks even more beautiful up close.

She's wearing a nice dress. Not the fancy kind, but the sort you'd wear when you used to go parties together in high school. She's wearing makeup, but it's dark and not at all the style that you're used to. She looks like she did back when you first got together, and not at all like the person who was comfortable in her own skin that she had become in your years with her since then. She looks incredibly attractive though, and that, combined her company at her table, leads you to believe that you've just interrupted a date.

"When did you get back?" Her voice sounds breathless and her eyes are wide, like she can't believe you're in the same room as her. Honestly, you can't either.

"A week ago," you answer, and her eyebrows pull together.

"I'm… I meant to call," she says, and you shrug. She meant to call, but she didn't. She's been busy. With what, though? The girl at the table?

"I called you," you reply. "But-"

"I got a new number," she responds quickly. At first you're relieved, because that means that the girl on the other end of the line _wasn't_ her girlfriend answering her phone. And then you realize that she got a new number and didn't bother to tell you, and you frown.

"Oh."

"I'm sorry," Santana takes a step closer and you shake your head. "I meant to-"

"It's fine."

She stops where she is and tugs at her dress nervously. The silence becomes uncomfortable as she stares at her feet, and your eyes dart to the girl at the table behind her.

"Are you on a date with her?" you ask bluntly. You know that this conversation might not last very long, so you decide to cut right to the chase. You need to know what Santana is doing with this girl. Have they been together long? Are they just friends? Is it serious? Is she in love with her? Or is this just their first date, is she going to have Rachel call her in ten minutes so she can excuse herself and leave. Somehow, you get a feeling that it isn't the latter.

"I…" she trails off nervously, looking behind her. You give her what you hope is a small reassuring smile.

"Santana, it's okay, you can tell me," you say gently, and she offers you a feeble smile in return. She looks scared, and you figure that gives you your answer already.

She's scared of how you'll react, and you promise yourself that you won't let her see that this is hurting you. Even if Santana has moved on, she's not a bad person. She won't want to see you in pain. She might even still love you, in some way. At the very least you hope she still calls you her friend. You won't let her see that the fact that she's here, on a date with a beautiful girl, smiling at her like _that_ is breaking your heart all over again.

"Yes. But Brittany-"

"No buts, San. We broke up," you cut in. You don't want her to feel like she owes you anything. The circumstances of your breakup were complicated, at best, and even though you know you won't be moving on anytime soon, Santana has every right to. You want to see her happy, after all, don't you? You know that you don't make her happy. You should be feeling nothing but joy at the fact that she's moved on and found someone who could do what you couldn't.

You're feeling the furthest thing from joy, of course.

"Yeah, but I didn't…" She doesn't finish her sentence, and you're dying to know what's on the other end of it.

"You didn't what?" you ask, when it's clear she has no intention of finishing her thought. You hope you've kept the eagerness out of your voice, but you can't tell because the only reaction she has is to bite her lip and look towards the ground.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," she says, looking over her shoulder at the girl sitting at the table. She's pretty, you're not too petty to admit that. She has red hair, which you didn't really think was Santana's type but apparently…

The girl is watching a band playing on the small stage intently, not looking at all bothered by the fact that Santana has been gone for a few minutes or that she's talking to her ex-girlfriend. If she even knows about you, that is.

"What's her name?" you ask. You don't want to ask the question, but you realize that you need to. It literally pains you to not know what's going in Santana's life, and you want so badly to be happy for her in all of this. All you've ever wanted was to see her happy, you remind yourself.

"Emily," she says with no emotion, no sigh of love afterwards, and you're grateful. You nod in recognition but don't say anything. What are you supposed to say, after all? Emily is a lovely name for the girl in the green dress, swaying to the music, who is making the love of your life smile when you're not there to anymore.

"I… are you back?" Santana asks timidly, and your eyes snap away from her date.

"What?"

"Are you back? I mean, how long are you home for?" she clarifies, and you feel your heart sink.

Two months, that's all you have to be near her again before you're across the country and the world. You weren't sure whether or not you were going to accept the gig, but now you feel as if the decision has been made for you. You can't be here if Santana's moved on.

Another two months, then. That's all you have. You tell her as much, and she nods solemnly. You think there's a bit of sadness in her eyes, but she diverts them from your own almost immediately upon hearing the news.

"And then?" she asks, quietly. You're not sure what to tell her, so you decide it's best to just tell her the truth.

"I have another offer. I'd be gone for another year if I went," you explain. Her shoulders fall a negligible amount and your heart jumps at the tiniest of movements. She's disappointed.

You feel like a bad person because you're happy at her apparent sadness. That's not the way things are supposed to be, is it? It used to be that you were happy when she was happy. But then when you were away on tour you were happy and she wasn't. And now, she's happy on her date with Emily, and you're heartbroken. Maybe things aren't the way they used to be at all. Maybe it's a sign that you two really weren't meant for each other.

"Oh," escapes her mouth in a sigh, and you nod. You chew your lip before asking your next question.

"Do you… do you think I should go?"

Her eyes connect with yours immediately, and you can tell she knows what you're asking. She glances back behind her at the girl, Emily, before nodding slowly.

"Yeah, Brittany," she says. "I do."

You know that you can't hide the hurt on your face at her words, so you drop your eyes down to the ground. You nod. You understand. She's moved on now; she doesn't want you hanging around. You'd be giving up your dream for someone who doesn't want you anymore. You'd be willing to do it if there was any chance that she'd want you to stay, but it's pretty clear that she doesn't want you here.

You scuff your feet at the ground, nodding your head. You hear her sigh, but you don't look up. Your phone starts to buzz in your pocket, and it's your friend Alex calling you. You gesture to Santana, letting her know you have to answer.

"Hello?" you say.

"Hey, Britt honey. We're running pretty late. Any way we can reschedule to meet in like an hour?"

"Um…" You don't want to wait around here for an hour. "Tell you what, I'll get some food from here to go and meet you back at my place in like an hour. Sound good?"

Alex says that it sounds fine, and you're hanging up less than a minute later. Santana's still standing there, waiting for you to get off the phone, and you're glad that Alex called and dissipated the awkwardness.

"I've gotta go," you say, pointing with your thumb towards the bar. She nods in acknowledgement. "It was nice seeing you," you offer weakly. You don't know what else to say now for goodbyes, since you can't use "I love you" anymore.

"Yeah," she responds, frowning. "You too. Take care of yourself, Britt."

You heart soars a little at the term of endearment before she's walking away, back towards her date.

* * *

You have fun with your friends, Katie and Alex. You know them from classes at Julliard, and they excitedly tell you about all the different things you've missed while you were away. You catch up on the latest gossip, and they tell you about all the awful professors they've had in the past months.

The three of you finish off a bottle of wine. Neither of them mentions Santana, because you're sure it's been spread around that the two of you are over. You've definitely confirmed the rumor by inviting them into the apartment you used to share. They've been here a few times before, and they got along with Santana just fine. You're sure they notice her absence.

They stay until the early morning, and you're glad. It's the first night that you haven't sat around sadly, and you actually ended up happy for the majority of the evening.

You'd left your phone charging in the other room while your friends were there, and when you go to get it the flashing alert light surprises you, indicating that you have a new voicemail message.

It's from a number you don't recognize, and you almost throw your phone down and collapse into bed when something tells you not to. You press play and hold the phone up to your ear.

_"Hey, Britt." _You recognize the voice immediately. _"It's me. Santana. I just… I wanted to give you my number, and to apologize for not giving it to you in the first place. I don't know what I was thinking." _The admission makes you smile.

_"I want to meet with you again soon and catch up, if you'd like to. Give me a call back, we can get some coffee. I, uh—I missed you. I'd really like to see you again."_ Her voice sounds so sincere that you're certain your heart has just melted.

_"So, just… call me back at this number, if you're free. Thanks. Bye." _

You check your phone. She had called at least three hours before, and it's way too late to call her back tonight. You'll have to do it in the morning.

You change into pajamas and snuggle under the sheets, giving the message one more listen before turning off the lights and rolling over to sleep.

She wants to meet with you, to have coffee with you. Whether or not she's dating someone, you're still ecstatic at the idea of having her back in your life at any capacity.

She missed you.

She wants to see you again.

With that little bit of comfort, you fall asleep happy for the first time in weeks.

* * *

**A/N: **Reviews will make my day, and I have a feeling I'll probably need it tomorrow. I love you, kids. Talk to you soon!


	5. Chapter Five

**A/N: **Hey! I tried to write this one up a bit faster, because I wanted to get this moving before I'm overtaken by schoolwork and Brittana feels later in the week ;) This is kind of going in a different direction, but hopefully you'll like it anyway!

I got some betas! They're really cool. Their names are iheartsnowie and sipsofmymind. They made this chapter so much more fun to work on, and I love them for it, so you should too :)

Let me know what you think in a review, and come follow me on tumblr so we can be friends:

**iam-your-opus . tumblr . com**

* * *

Kurt helps you decorate your new apartment. You didn't really want him to because you didn't want your apartment to look like a_ very_ gay man lived there, but he promised to keep your tastes in mind and you're actually pretty satisfied with the result. He hunted down all the best bargains and even helped you make matching valances out of your excess shower curtain. He knew weird things about paint colors and picture frames that you barely understood, and you feel like you live in an IKEA magazine by the end of it.

Rachel has been over nonstop since you've left her apartment, and you end up having to tell her to back off after a month or so.

"I'm fine," you say, when she explains that she's just worried about you.

You don't tell her that being around her constantly is making you think of Brittany, of old times when you were all in the Glee Club in high school, and it's making you pretty miserable. Rachel has been a great friend; you just need some space, and she understands that.

* * *

It hits you occasionally that you've actually broken up with Brittany. It still doesn't seem real to you, sometimes. You get the urge to call her over the littlest things: funny stories, good grades, or old memories. But you've broken up with her, and even though you didn't talk about it, you're pretty sure you're not ever going to get back together. Brittany is just starting out in her career, after all, and you're positive she's going to be a big star. You wish you were strong enough to deal with the distance, but you aren't.

You've told yourself these things over and over again, but it still doesn't make it any easier.

So you focus all of your efforts into getting over her. It seems wrong - you've spent all of your life chasing after her and fighting for her, and now you're suddenly forcing yourself to let her go and trying to push her out of your mind. It goes against everything you know. Maybe that's why it doesn't work.

You make yourself go out with your friends. It would be so easy to just sit at home every night, moping around and missing her, but you know that's going to get you nowhere fast. You know that if you find yourself as miserable without her as you were when you were still together, that you've gone and broken her heart for nothing. You need to make sure to get better so it'll be worth it, at the very least. You know it's selfish, but it gets you off the couch and out of your pajamas, so you don't berate yourself too much.

Besides, you have complete faith that Brittany will be all right. She always has been, even in high school when things got really bad between the two of you. You're sure she's coping fine, that she's finding friends and moving on. You really hope that's the case, anyway, because the idea of Brittany being sad because of you breaks your heart even more.

You ask Rachel a couple of times how Brittany is doing, but she doesn't tell you much. She'll tell you what city she's in or news about the tour, but not much more than that. She says she's making friends, and you find that comforting. At least she isn't alone.

So, you go out with your friends from class.

It isn't exactly your scene (it hasn't been since high school), but you end up at a lot of bars dancing and drinking, and it's enough to keep you distracted. You'd rather be home listening to Rachel singing show-tunes or cuddled up on the couch watching television, but you know that it wouldn't be good for your mental health. Instead, you go and drink rum and cokes with Emily and Jonathan and Matthew, who are in a couple of classes with you. Emily hasn't said anything about your kiss a few months ago, and you're glad to avoid that awkwardness. You're not ready to deal with that quite yet.

* * *

You start to go out with your friends every weekend, sometimes even twice a week. It's fun and it crosses your mind every once in a while that you might be pushing your feelings away, but in those few weeks it takes away some of the pain and that's all you care about.

You've gotten closer to Emily. You talk about your lives and she makes you laugh, and even though it doesn't feel _good,_ it doesn't feel bad either. That's all you think you can really hope for right now, so you keep doing it.

It's sometime in the second month after the breakup that Emily stops you as you are getting into your taxi one night.

"Do you think... do you want to grab some food, sometime?" she asks, and you realize she's blushing. Is she interested in you? You don't know how you haven't really registered it yet, because all the signs are there. She's trying to be more subtle than just flat-out kissing you after how you reacted last time, and you appreciate that.

You don't know what possesses you to do it. Maybe it's because she's attractive and interested and _there_, but you end up leaning in and pressing your mouth to hers. She responds eagerly, her mouth warm and then _hot_ over yours. It feels completely different from kissing Brittany, but as she moans into your lips you begin to think that maybe that can be okay.

* * *

You have sex with her that night after she gets in the taxi and directs the driver back to her apartment. You sort of enjoy it, and you feel awful about that afterwards. You struggle to wait until she falls asleep to cry. Then the tears come, too warm and overpowering as you try not to shake so much that you wake her as she sleeps next to you.

You wake up in the morning before she does and slip out, leaving a note saying 'something came up.' You're surprised when she doesn't call or text you wondering where you've been, and when you run into her on campus a few days later she smiles and waves before she continues walking with her friends.

You end up going to a bar with the group again the following week. Emily wasn't there when you first arrived, and you were relieved because that was one conversation you did _not _want to have: you're in love with your ex-girlfriend and not looking for any sort of commitment at the moment.

An hour later (and a few drinks in) she comes through the door. She says hello, kissing everyone on their cheeks and apologizing for her lateness. She doesn't pause awkwardly in front of you, just swoops down and plants her lips against your skin before moving on, and you're surprised.

She spends most of her night out on the dance floor with Jonathan while you sit and talk with Jennifer, Cody, and Matt; they've started hanging out with your group of friends more and more often. They're weekly regulars now, and you're glad, because there's only so much time you can spend in a small group without starting to get into emotional topics.

At the end of the night, Emily walks up to you and flashes you a smile that you just _know_ is some sort of invitation. But you don't act on it.

Not that night, anyway.

The next week, it's a different story.

* * *

You approach her first, surprisingly.

You honestly feel weird about the entire thing. It's been a while since you've slept with someone with no feelings involved and ended up breaking hearts, and you don't want to turn into that person again.

"Can we talk?" you ask her, standing at the bar. She flits her eyes around nervously before answering.

"Can I be honest with you?"

You blink at her, because you were thinking _you_ were going to be doing all the talking in this conversation. You nod.

"I'm not really looking for a relationship right now. Maybe it was wrong of me to sleep with you because of that, but I'm just looking for something..." Emily trails off, her gaze not meeting yours as she looks around nervously.

"I don't know, something fun, something to keep me entertained. I'm busy with school and work and I don't have the _time_ to date. And then I met you, and I don't know, you seemed so..." she gestures toward you before sighing.

"I don't know, free? I guess I just _assumed_ that you'd be okay with it, and it was wrong of me, and I'm really sorry if I've misled you but-"

You cut her off with your lips, because honestly you don't want to hear what she has to say anymore. She doesn't want a relationship and that's just fine with you. You _need_ this.

It's the way you've always coped with your emotions and you don't know how to stop anymore, because that's what _Brittany_ taught you, and now that you've lost her, you've lost that ability. Your emotions are everywhere and you just want to drown them in sex. So, you do.

You and Emily casually sleep together for two months before she finally asks you if you want to go do something a little less physical.

You surprise yourself by saying yes, and the two of you eat a rather pleasant dinner at a restaurant you've never been to. You end up having fun, and you don't know why you're surprised by this. You've spent a lot of time with Emily in the past, but you've never realized how much you truly enjoy her company.

Sure, she doesn't give you butterflies and you aren't in _love_ with her, but it's pleasant. She kisses you goodnight after walking you home, and it keeps you smiling for a while before you realize how much you wish your evening had been spent with someone who is probably hundreds of miles away.

* * *

It's on the fourth date when it happens.

You don't know _how_ four months have passed without you noticing. It all becomes a blur after the first few weeks, with you just pushing through and life dragging you along.

It's the first date where you're the one taking Emily out, and you decide to bring her to your favorite restaurant near your old place. It's not until you get there that you remember it was your favorite simply because it was Brittany's favorite, and you spend the majority of the meal recalling old memories of Brittany in the chair across from you, Brittany on the dance floor, Brittany-

You realize that you've stopped paying attention to Emily completely, at that point. You're sitting there with a smile on your face, thinking of all the good times you've had in this restaurant, and you're not even sure what the hell you're supposed to be talking about with the girl sitting in front of you. You hope your grin wasn't totally inappropriate, and you drop it quickly as you listen to her speak.

"And so he's standing there, coffee dripping down his front, and we're all trying _so hard _not to laugh..."

Her words ease your worry. She's still talking about her asshole boss. You laugh along with her and shake your head, pretending like you've been listening all along, when something catches your eye.

You blink, hard, because even though you've been getting lost in your thoughts a lot, you didn't think you were getting to the point of actual _insanity_, and unless your eyes are playing tricks on you, Brittany is standing in the front of the restaurant, talking to the hostess.

You sit there and count the days and months that she's been gone and realize that yes, it's entirely possible that she might be home. If she's still in your old place, she'd be living a short walk away from the restaurant, and you get suddenly angry with yourself for thinking that it was a good idea to bring Emily here, of all places.

She sits down at the bar and you just _can't_ take your eyes off her. You know it's probably a bad idea, gawking at your ex while on a date with someone else, _especially_ when you haven't seen or heard from said ex in four months. But she looks beautiful, and you're pretty sure all coherent and rational thought left your brain the moment you laid eyes on her.

Her eyes find yours and your mind goes completely blank. She looks away quickly, nervously, and you're not sure what it means, but you find yourself standing and excusing yourself abruptly. Emily looks surprised, but quickly smiles and says 'okay,' and you walk briskly towards the bar.

"Brittany?"

Her head snaps up as you call her name, and her gaze immediately connects with your own.

You haven't seen her in months (though it feels more like years), and now that she's here you have no idea what it is you want to say to her. Once you saw her, you knew you needed to be near her, to talk to her. But you can't think of anything besides _Brittany,_ and the way her mouth is turning slightly upwards and her hair is tucked adorably behind her ears.

She's _smiling_, like she's happy to see you, and something about that seems so wrong because she should hate you right now. You should have known that Brittany wasn't really capable of something as ugly as hate, though. She's too beautiful for that.

"Santana..." she sighs your name, like she's been waiting to say it forever.

She looks gorgeous, in the simple way Brittany always does. She's not wearing any makeup, and you've missed the pattern her freckles make across her cheeks. She's wearing a hoodie- your mind stumbles over the fact that the hoodie isn't _yours_ - and jeans, like she's spent the day relaxing at home.

"When did you get home?" you ask her. You feel so out of touch with her life. How could she have already come back without you realizing it? You feel guilty that you've let the four months pass without noticing. You love her, you should have been counting the days that she was missing from your life. But as more and more time went by, you started to lose track until it just felt like it had been _forever_ since you saw her last.

"A week ago," she says simply, shrugging. You realize how bad it sounds that you didn't know that. It sounds like you don't care, and that's not what you want at all. You asked about her, you did, Rachel just wouldn't tell you much, so eventually you gave up and stopped asking. It isn't your fault.

"I'm... I meant to call," you offer in way of explanation. She shrugs again.

"I called you," she replies, and you feel your heart drop into your stomach because _shit_, you broke your phone a few months ago and switched to a new service to avoid the stupid contract fees. If she was calling you, she was calling the wrong number. You haven't talked to her since then, so, unless Rachel interfered, there's no way she would have known.

"I got a new number," you say. You watch as her face falls, because how can you have a phone number that she doesn't know? You've had each other's numbers memorized since sixth grade.

"Oh..."

"I'm sorry," you apologize quickly. She looks so _sad_ all of a sudden, and you feel the need to be closer to her. "I meant-"

"It's fine," Brittany replies shortly, and you swallow thickly because it _feels_ like a lie, but doesn't sound like one. Her voice is normal and shows no hint of emotion, and maybe that's what gives it away. Brittany is never stoic.

"Are you on a date with her?" she asks, interrupting your thoughts. You suddenly remember Emily, sitting behind you, and turn to check that she's still there.

She's tapping her foot, watching the band perform in the corner of the room, and you're relieved that she doesn't seem to have noticed you over here. She doesn't know about Brittany, and you don't want her to find out. That would be an emotional conversation, and emotions are way too real for what you have with her. With feelings it's better, and you don't _want_ better with Emily, you want just enough to get you through the days.

"I..." you start to explain, but your words trail off. What could you say to explain away the fact that you've been sleeping with one of your friends to try to get over Brittany?

"Santana," she says, when you don't finish your sentence. Her voice is warm and gentle, and it relaxes you. "It's okay, you can tell me." She looks at you expectantly.

"Yes. But, Brittany-"

"No 'buts', San. We broke up." Her stark honesty combined with the nickname you haven't heard in month leaves a lump in your throat. She has an ironic smile on her face, and it makes your heart ache.

"Yeah..." you say, because it's the truth. You _did_ break up. But it still doesn't excuse what you've done, what you're doing.

"But I didn't..." You can't think of words and it's so frustrating. You wish you had known you were going to see her. You're usually so much more eloquent than this. You've always known the right things to say with Brittany.

"You didn't what?" she asks, gently, guiding you to get your thoughts out. She's being so strangely sweet to you that you don't know how to feel. You think you would know if she was faking it, but it's been so long that you're second-guessing yourself.

"I didn't want you to find out like this," you finish, glancing behind you at Emily again.

"What's her name?" you hear Brittany ask, and turn back to face her. She wants to know her name? Brittany seems so surprisingly _okay_ with all of this, and you wonder if that's because she actually is. Is she over you? Has she moved on?

It hurts to think that she might not love you anymore, but that means that she might be _happy_, and that makes you feel a little more open to talking to her.

"Emily," you say emptily. You don't want to talk about Emily. She isn't important, Brittany is. And Brittany is here, in front of you, and she doesn't seem to hate you like you know she should.

"I... are you back?" you ask, and immediately feel stupid. You aren't asking if she's _back_ because obviously she is, she's standing right in front of you. You want to know if she's _staying_, how long she's going to be here, how long until you have to say goodbye again (if this conversation even counts as a hello).

"What?" she asks, confused. You've switched topics randomly, which has never been a good idea when talking to Brittany.

"Are you back? I mean, how long are you home for?" you elaborate, because you're sure repeating the same thing twice isn't going to help her figure out what you mean any faster.

"Oh, two months," she responds, once she realizes what you meant.

Two months. That isn't really a long time, is it? You could have sworn it seemed like _so_ long the first time she left you for two months, but now it sounds like it could go by in the blink of an eye. If she is only home for those two months, that must mean she has something else planned after they've passed.

"And then?" you ask. You know it's probably another tour and you're glad for it, because that means she's doing what she's _made_ to do, what you sacrificed your relationship for.

"I have another offer. I'd be gone another year if I went."

A year. That sounds more like it. A year is a long time, you remember. A year is how long it took to ruin the one good thing you had in your life.

"Oh," you sigh at the memory.

Maybe you sound just a little too sad, or remorseful, because she looks up at you hopefully and asks: "Do you... do you think I should go?"

There's this hope in her eyes that makes you feel like a terrible person, and you're reminded of the night you left her and the way she looked at you when you told her she couldn't make you stay.

You look once again at Emily, the girl you're using like you used to in high school, and then back to Brittany, the girl whose heart you've broken too many times, and you feel so disgusted by yourself.

"Yeah, Brittany... I do," you say finally, and her eyes drop from yours before you can see her reaction. You're about to say something else, anything to get her to look at you again, when she pulls her phone out of her pocket, flipping it open and holding up a finger to you.

"Hello?" she answers, and she sounds happy, like her bubbly self. "Um... Tell you what, I'll get some food from here to go and meet you back at my place in like an hour. Sound good?"

You feel jealous suddenly, which is ridiculous, because you're here on a date with someone else. But who is Brittany meeting with? Friends? A lover? A significant other? You decide you don't want to know.

"I've gotta go," she says once she's flipped her phone shut. She's smiling at you again now, and you don't know what to do besides stand there awkwardly because she's leaving. This conversation didn't go at all the way you wanted it to; not that you knew how you wanted it to go in the first place, but this, this heartbreakingly awkward exchange, was definitely not it.

"It was nice seeing you," Brittany says, and you struggle to hear whether or not she really means it; but then she doesn't say anything else and you curse yourself for wasting this opportunity to talk to her with your own stupidity. God only knows when you're going to see her again.

"Yeah," you say. Your throat feels raw all of a sudden, angry at you for not saying the right things.

"You too. Take care of yourself, Britt." The name is out before you even have time to register it, but you don't regret it as she smiles a bit wider before turning away, leaving you to your date.

You get back to your table and quickly tell Emily that you have to go, that some of the food has made you sick or something. She looks concerned and offers to take you back to your apartment, to take care of you, and you start to _actually_ feel sick with how wrong it all feels.

You tell her you'll be fine, throw some cash on the table to pay for both of your meals, and walk away as fast as you can.

* * *

"Santana's here!" you hear Kurt yell when you knock, and a moment later Rachel swings the door open. She greets you with a smile before running back towards the living room area where Kurt is already sitting on the couch.

Kurt lives in a rather large studio. Rachel is standing near the stove, baking something vegan, which, on any other night, you would have made fun of her for. Kurt is talking to her about his latest experience with a boy who keeps canceling on all of their dates. You told Kurt after the second time to just give up, but he says he has nothing better going on right now anyway, so 'what's the harm in trying?'

"His _grandmother_! Can you believe it?!"

Rachel is shaking her head sympathetically, and you walk over and slink down onto the couch.

"Santana, I'm making brownies, and you're not allowed to-"

"Santana?!" Kurt says suddenly, leaning forward when he sees your expression. You're pretty sure you look as if you've just seen a ghost. And you have, sort of. A ghost that you were (_are_) in love with and in front of whom you just made a total ass of yourself.

"Are you okay?" he asks, and Rachel walks over, concerned. They're staring at you but you keep your gaze focused straight ahead.

"I saw Brittany," you say, and they both gasp dramatically. Rachel sits down next to you and pulls your hands into her lap.

"And?"

"I was on a date with Emily," you finish, and they gasp again.

"Oh no," Kurt mutters, while Rachel squeezes your hands tightly.

"Was she angry? Did she slap you? It's okay if she did, we've all been slapped once or twice and it's no big-"

"Rachel," Kurt interrupts, laying a hand on her shoulder. "Santana, honey, what did she say?"

"She told me... that it was okay that I was on a date, that we broke up. And then she asked me about Emily, and told me about her next tour, and it was just so _awkward_ and I just didn't know what to say and she must think I hate her because I-"

"Santana, deep breaths," Rachel says, rubbing your back.

"It was awful," you say, and you realize that you're on the verge of tears. You lean your head down into your hands and cradle it there. "I've missed her so much and then I finally saw her and it was just _awful_."

"What was so bad about it?" Kurt asks.

"It was just... I was so awkward, and I have so many things to say to her and my mind just went completely _blank_. And she looked so _pretty_ and she was meeting people there, and she seemed happy, but then I fucked that up too."

"What do you mean?" Rachel asks, and you sigh.

"She asked if I still thought she should go on tour again after this one and I said yes."

"Well... is that true?"

"Well,_ yeah_, but I think she thought it was because of Emily and it's _not_, it's not at all. I think I gave her the totally wrong impression and I just... I just meant that things haven't changed, that I still feel the same way, not that I didn't love her anymore."

"Honestly, San, what's the harm in her thinking that you've moved on? Maybe it'll encourage her to do the same," Kurt suggests. You sigh. You feel that he may be right, but something seems so wrong about misleading Brittany like that, especially when it's the farthest thing from the truth.

"Maybe you _should_ move on. Emily is a nice girl, right? And you like her. If you move on, you and Brittany... I don't know, you can be friends one day."

The truth in his words strikes you suddenly.

Brittany is only home for two months... you could be friends with her, just for now, and then get over her when she leaves for the year. She seemed like she wanted to be friends, right? You _know_ that it's probably wrong, but you just miss her so badly that, the more you think about it, the more and more it begins to sound like a good idea.

After all, it'll give your heart a break, and it'll be like getting a redo of her first tours, except this time you won't be together and you won't feel like you're left behind, waiting for her at home. You'll be able to move on like you should have in the first place. You'll have an entire year to do it. The four months you've given yourself to get over her this time around were _way_ too short, and she seems like she wants to be friends again. She _did_ call, after all; you just hadn't given her your number in the first place.

It _especially_ sounds like a good idea after a few glasses of wine with Kurt. You've worked it all out in your head, by then. You'll ask her to get lunch with you. You'll meet with her and tell her that you'd like to be friends, if she can handle that, if she's over you. If she doesn't want to, you'll back off, simple as that.

And if she says yes, and you're sure she isn't lying, then you'll go along with it. You'll keep dating Emily, because she's seeing other people, anyway. You can get to be friends, to be near her for the next two months, and you'll still have time to get over her. You know it's pathetic and stupid and probably an awful idea, but you just miss her so much that, once you've thought of it, you're not sure you're strong enough to convince yourself not to do it.

Kurt and Rachel are just sitting down to begin their weekly facials when you excuse yourself into the bathroom, taking your phone with you.

You know you'll probably regret it in the morning, but it's just _one_ phone call. You're not actually going through with this plan, you're just setting it in motion. Who knows if Brittany will even call you back? She probably won't, judging by how you acted today. And even if she does, you don't _have_ to do anything. You can just have coffee together and then go your separate ways. _It won't be a big deal,_ you rationalize as you lock the door behind you and pull out your phone.

It's ringing before you even realized you've dialed, and it goes straight to voicemail. You think it's a good thing, because if you had to talk to her right now you'd probably lose all your nerve and have a repeat performance of your conversation at the restaurant.

_"Hey, Britt. It's me." _You realize a second later that she doesn't know your number and there isn't any guarantee that she'll know who "me" is. You know you'd recognize Brittany's voice even if you hadn't heard it in fifty years, but still, you correct yourself.

"..._Santana. I just… I wanted to give you my number, and to apologize for not giving it to you in the first place. I don't know what I was thinking." _You're doing well so far. You're even being kind of smooth, if you do say so yourself, and you're impressed that you haven't said anything stupid yet.

_"I want to meet with you again soon and catch up, if you'd like to. Give me a call back, we can get some coffee. I, uh—I missed you. I'd really like to see you again. So, just… call me back at this number, if you're free. Thanks. Bye."_

You sigh with relief when you press the 'end' button, letting the nerves flood out of your system. You decide you can't tell Rachel and Kurt about your plan. Not yet, anyway. They won't approve (and maybe you should take that as a sign), and you're pretty sure they could talk you out of it and that's not what you want.

The only thing that would stop you from doing this is if it wasn't what _Brittany_ wanted. If Brittany didn't want to stay friends, you wouldn't make her. If she isn't over you, if this could hurt her, it's off the table. But she _did_ say that she had tried to call, which means she had wanted to talk to you. And friends talk, right? Right.

* * *

Brittany doesn't call you back that night, and you try to justify it because it was late (okay, it was only 9:30, but still), and she was meeting with someone (friends, not a date, you're sure of it).

You don't take your eyes off your phone for more than five minutes the next day, and you leave the ringer on as loud as it will go. You don't want to miss her call, if she decides to call you back at all. It's nearly noon when your phone finally makes a noise, but it's just a text and you're disappointed until you see the name flashing on the screen.

_Santana? _

It's Brittany. She isn't returning your call, but at the very least she's texting you, and you sigh with relief that you haven't made a complete and total fool of yourself.

_Hey, Britt_! you respond, trying to sound as welcoming as possible. You don't want to scare her off like you did that night you texted her to tell her you were moving out.

_I'm gonna call you, is that okay? _

You chuckle, because you're not sure why she'd be texting you to ask if she can call, but you text her back '_okay_' anyway. Your heart is racing. You're just happy that she wants to talk to you after how you behaved last night.

The phone is ringing not a minute later.

"Hello?" you answer, and you chide yourself on how strange your voice sounds, overly bright and bubbly and not at all like yourself.

"_Hi,_" she replies, and she sounds quiet, distant, scared. It occurs to you that this might not be a good phone call, that she might be calling to tell you not to contact her anymore. But if that were true, why couldn't she have just texted you that? Or, better yet, just not called you back at all? You realize it's your turn to speak, and decide to say what's on your mind.

"Why did you ask if you could call?"

You hear her let out a small, embarrassed laugh on the other end of the line.

_"I just… I dunno, I didn't want you to be busy or something. I don't want us to end up in an endless game of phone tag and never get around to talking."_

_A simple, sweet explanation that is just so Brittany that you can't help but smile._

"_Anyway, I'm really glad you called,_" Brittany says, and you feel your heart beat faster even though you tell it not to. You can't use these two months to fall even further in love with her - it'd just hurt too badly.

"You are?" you ask shyly.

_"Yeah, I've been really wanting to talk to you. Like I said, I called, but..."_

"Yeah, again, I'm so sorry about that. My phone broke and I posted my new number on Facebook, it didn't even occur to me that you wouldn't have it and-"

"_Santana!_" she cuts in, laughing. "_It's fine. No harm done, we're talking now._"

At the sound of her laughter your heart feels like it stops altogether. This all feels so natural, _too _natural, and you're waiting for the moment that she realizes that this isn't how she's supposed to act around you anymore, that she should hate you or at the very least be mad at you. But she's laughing and you're smiling and somehow, you push all the bad thoughts away just enough to enjoy the sounds filtering through your phone.

"We are, indeed," you comment. She giggles again, and you yell at the butterflies in your stomach to shut up, because if you can't behave and keep your emotions under control then you can't be friends again, and you miss her so much that you want that more than anything. Well, _almost_ anything.

_"You mentioned getting coffee?"_ she asks.

"I did... is that something you'd be interested in?" you reply, and you can hear her moving against the phone as she nods her head.

"_Yeah! Yes. I would... I would like that. A lot. Would you?_" she sounds shy and nervous, and you feel bad because how could she think that you don't want to see her? Then you remember the way you acted in the restaurant yesterday and you feel worse.

"I would really like to talk to you," you say. "When are you free?"

_"I'm really free whenever,"_ Brittany says. "_I just got back, and I have some plans with a few people next week. But I'm not working or taking classes or anything, and I'd really like to get to talk to you, so I'm really available... whenever..._" she trails off, and you can practically see the blush on her face as she realizes she's been rambling.

"Whenever sounds good," you say, and she laughs. "Is tomorrow too soon to be whenever?"

_"No!"_ Brittany exclaims quickly. "_Tomorrow... tomorrow works just fine._"

"Perfect. I'll meet you at Joe's at... how's 9:30 sound?"

You want to meet her at Joe's Corner Cafe, the one on your old street. You used to meet Kurt and Rachel there for lunch all the time, and you know she loves their blueberry flavored brew.

"_It sounds like- I'll be there._" It sounds like _a date_, your mind fills in automatically, and you can't help but blush.

"I guess I will too, then," you joke, and you're rewarded with another chuckle.

"_Bye, Santana. I'll see you tomorrow._"

"Yeah. Bye, Britt."

With that, you hang up the phone. You hold it against your chest for a minute, smiling, before you finally move to go on with your day, suddenly convinced that maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all.

* * *

**A/N: **Okay, so Santana's being a bit bad. We love her anyway, right?

Leave me a review and we'll be buddies. :)


	6. Chapter Six

**A/N: **Hey kids. Sorry for the wait. I had a lot of issues with this one, which you know if you've been following along on Tumblr!

I'm posting this unbeta-ed because I'm going to be really, REALLY busy these next few days and I'm not gonna have time to talk with my betas and work all the kinks out of this with them, and I didn't want to put this off for any longer. So, unfortunately, this might be a bit rough. I've given it countless read throughs, though, so I hope it isn't too bad.

I really love writing through Britt's POV, but I was really struggling with this chapter. Maybe you'll see why? I'm sorry for it, either way. I promise I have better things in store for up ahead!

Anyway, thanks for sticking with me. I love you. Especially if you leave reviews and talk to me on Tumblr :) But even if you don't, every alert and every favorite and even every view means the world to me.

**iam-your-opus . tumblr . com ** - Come talk to me, make me happy!

* * *

Brittany

* * *

Santana called and asked you to get coffee with her yesterday, and you have no idea what it's supposed to mean.

_She could just want to apologize_ _for the other day, _you think. But no, that _can't _be right, because she had already apologized to you over the phone.

_She missed you. She just wants to see you again_, your heart insists, feeding off of the words in her message.

You can't deny that you'd listened to that message over and over again this morning. But you were just trying to figure out what it meant, honestly. You weren't listening to it on repeat because you missed her voice so much or anything. That would just be creepy.

Anyway, you have the entire message memorized at this point, and you aren't any closer to figuring out why Santana wants to meet you for coffee.

Any time your heart starts to race at the idea of her simply missing you and wanting to see you, you remind yourself that the only reason she called in the first place was because you ran into her on a date with another girl. A _pretty_ girl, who is probably smarter than you and funnier than you and is _here_, with Santana, when you can't be.

Santana wasn't subtle about the fact that running into you at the restaurant made her uncomfortable. You're not sure why, because you were trying to be as friendly as possible, but she couldn't seem to stop frowning the entire time you saw her. The conversation was stunted and she obviously still feels the same way that she did the night that she left you. The whole exchange was awkward. It really scared you to think that could be the state of your relationship from now on.

You were so grateful when she called and assuaged those fears later that night, even though you're not sure whether she was calling because she wanted to, or because she was (obviously) slightly drunk. She sounded sober when you called back (you should hope so, because it wasn't nearly far enough into the day to start drinking), and she was just as friendly then, but that could have been because she felt bad for drunk dialing you.

You could be walking into a minefield right now; Santana is kind of unpredictable that way. You have no way to prepare yourself for what she'll have to say to you when you see her, because you can't get a read on how she's feeling right now from just her phone call. Nonetheless, you've been waiting eagerly all day to get to talk to her, even if you don't know what's going to happen when you do.

Maybe she's going to say she could sense how crazy in love you were with her when you saw her the other day. Maybe she'll say that you need to stay away from her until you're over her because she's dating Emily now. Maybe she wants you back.

Maybe she thinks she forgot something at the apartment and wants to ask you to return it. Maybe she just wants to get coffee with you.

But why would she ask you to meet at Joe's Cafe?

Maybe she has bad news and wanted to give it to you in public so you couldn't freak out. Maybe she thinks it'd be awkward to meet you anywhere that the two of you would be alone.

You're trying not to read too much into the fact that Joe's was one of _your_ places when you were a couple. You'd meet there for a late breakfast on days when you knew that classes were going to keep you apart for the rest of the day.

Then again, she brought Emily to your favorite date restaurant.

Maybe these places don't mean the same things to Santana as they do to you.

Maybe Santana has forgotten.

* * *

You're late.

You're usually never late. In fact, you're usually at least fifteen minutes early. The only time you're ever late is if you've completely forgotten that you had to be somewhere, and that's definitely not what happened here because you would never forget about Santana.

But, just as you were leaving, Rachel called you on your house phone, and no matter how many times you insisted that you had to go or that you should move your conversation to your cell, she dismissed you. You would normally have been a bit more insistent, but it turned out that she had called bearing good news.

One of her friends is directing a music video and needs a choreographer, and Rachel has recommended you. It's a good opportunity for you because, without Santana paying half the rent, you can really use the money. Plus finding a job dancing (that would need to only last for the two months that you're home) will probably be difficult, and getting your foot in the door with choreographing might really help you out in the long run. The money isn't bad, and it'll be fun, so you're sure to make sure Rachel knows how much you appreciate the opportunity before you hang up.

As good as her news was, though, you didn't want to hear about it when you had been waiting all day to leave to go meet Santana. You don't know why, but you don't mention the fact that you're getting coffee with her to Rachel. You have a feeling that would turn into a very, _very_ long conversation, and you really do not have the time for that.

Instead, you end up leaving twenty minutes after you'd originally planned. You walked as fast as you could to get to the coffee shop (you considered running, but you didn't want to turn up there all sweaty and gross). There's a line practically to the door when you walk into Joe's, and you can't see Santana in it. You look to see if she's seated at one of the tables, but you can't seem to find her.

_Shit. _Maybe she's already left. You've never really known Santana to be patient, and with a quick glance at your watch you can see that you're just past fifteen minutes late.

"Hey!" you hear a voice calling to you. You're relieved as you recognize it as Santana's voice, and you turn around.

She's sitting at a small table behind the door. There's a book laid out in front of her, and one of her hands is resting on it, keeping the page open about halfway through. You immediately feel bad that you've kept her waiting for this long.

"Hi!" you answer, hoping your voice holds as much enthusiasm as hers did. She's smiling at you, and it doesn't look anywhere near forced. She looks _beautiful. _You catch yourself before you begin to stare, and walk towards her.

You sit in the chair across from her. She isn't wearing weird clothes this time, but a familiar red shirt and a dark skirt. Her hair is longer now than you ever remember seeing it, and she's changed the color of her lip gloss, but she's the Santana that you remember so fondly, and you're glad to see that she hasn't transformed into a completely new person in the past four months.

There's two coffees in front of her, and you quickly check the cup to see if it's for you. It is.

"You got me coffee? You didn't have to do that," you say, blinking in confusion. Her wanting to meet to talk to you is one thing, but buying you coffee really throws you for a loop. Everything about her has drastically changed since you saw her two days ago, and you're torn between ecstatic and nervous.

"Yeah, well, maybe if you hadn't been so late..." she says, and if you hadn't known Santana so well you might have thought that she was actually angry. Instead, you catch the slight upturn of her lips, and smile apologetically in return.

"Sorry. I was on the phone with Rachel, actually, she-" you begin to explain, but Santana holds up a hand to stop you.

"Say no more. In fact, I'm impressed if you managed to get here only fifteen minutes late. It normally takes me at least an hour to get her off the phone," Santana says, and you're surprised by how friendly she's being. You're glad to see that she wasn't faking her amicable tone during your phone conversation, but it leaves you even more confused as to how she's feeling. You try not to get your hopes up at the easy smile on her face.

"Really?" you ask, chuckling, because you can't picture Santana being patient with Rachel for more than five minutes. "I would have thought you'd just hang up by then."

"God, no. I learned that lesson the hard way. I once hung up on her when I was on my way to work. She showed up an hour later in tears saying she thought I had died in a horrible car accident or got mugged and left in a dark alley to die."

"Oh my god," you say, and place a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter.

"Yeah, it took me another half hour to get her to leave. Took up both of my breaks. My boss was livid. On the bright side, he banned her from ever coming back,_" _she finishes, shrugging bursting into laughter along with you.

You laugh even harder, because somehow you didn't realize how much you'd missed Santana complaining about Rachel. There have been so many things that you've missed about her, it's been hard to keep awkward lull fills the silence after your laughter dies out, and you find yourself fiddling with the cardboard sleeve around your cup.

You take a sip of your coffee, and smile as the taste hits your tongue. Blueberry coffee has always been your favorite. If you mix in just the right amount of french vanilla, it tastes just like a blueberry cream pie. Santana drinks her coffee dark, and you could barely swallow it the few times she convinced you to taste it. She always makes a face at how light you like your coffee, but as you take another sip you realize she's made it perfectly.

"How's your coffee?" Santana asks, and you nearly cringe at the fact that you're about to engage in small talk with the girl you've known since you were twelve.

"It's great, thank you," you say, tipping it towards her. She '_hmms'_ in response as she takes a long sip of her own drink.

The silence begins to get uncomfortable again, and you know you can't let this continue any further without addressing the elephant in the room.

"Can I ask you a question?"

She looks up from behind her cup at you, giving you a slight nod.

You draw in a deep breath, because this has all felt so friendly and comfortable that you don't want to ruin it by talking about your breakup. Then again, you know that you can't just continue on as if nothing has ever happened between the two of you. You need to talk about it at some point, and you hope that's what Santana brought you here to do today.

"What are we doing?" you ask, and she doesn't miss a beat in responding.

"We're... getting coffee," she answers simply, gesturing between the two of you. "Talking."

"Talking, or like... _talking?" _You tilt your head to the side, confused. Because talking is about coffee, books, movies, gossip. You're hoping she called you to _talk_, to figure out what's next for the two of you, because you desperately need there to _be_ a next.

"That... depends," she says, frowning. "Which do you want it to be?"

"I... I don't think I know what you mean," you reply. You don't understand why it would matter what _you_ want out of this when she's the one who asked to see you. Santana clearly must have called you here for a reason. You want to know her motives.

"Well, you're the one who asked the question," she says, somewhat pointedly, and you feel a bit disheartened by her tone. Maybe trying to _talk_ wasn't what she wanted, after all.

"Well... you're the one who asked me to meet you," you reply meekly, shrugging. "I'm sure you wanted something more than to just buy me coffee."

"Honestly?" Santana sighs, the tension falling out of her shoulders as she leans forward. "No, I didn't. I just... How are you, Brittany?"

The question takes you by surprise, because surely if all she wanted to know was how you _were_ she could have asked Rachel or asked you over the phone yesterday. It doesn't make sense that she would want to meet up in another potentially awkward situation just to ask how you _are. _

"How am I?" you repeat, and you're relieved when she doesn't get frustrated with you this time.

"Yeah, it's just that... I haven't heard from you in so long and-"

Oh. You see what this is. She's checking up on you. She wants to make sure you're not still broken, that she didn't do any permanent damage. Whether that's because she still cares about you, or because she doesn't want to feel responsible, you're unsure.

"I'm good," you interject, because either way, you don't want her to know how much you still love and miss her. You're usually nothing but honest with Santana, but she's moved on. She's happy, now. Who are you to try and ruin that for her?

"Good?" she asks, and you wonder if she can still see straight through you when you lie. You try harder with your answer this time.

"Yeah, I'm really good," you smile and nod, and she squints your eyes at you as if she can't quite figure you out.

"Like, _good _or... good?" she asks, and you roll your eyes.

"Good or _good, _talk or _talk,_" you laugh while you're saying it, but you know she can tell that you're serious by the way she drops your gaze, embarrassed. _"_Santana, this would all be a lot easier if we both just said what we meant, don't you think?"

She sighs, nodding her head in agreement. You're glad, because knowing how stubborn Santana can be, this probably would've gone on for several more minutes if she hadn't relented.

"Are you okay?"

Santana just asked you how you _were_ not a minute ago, so you're confused again. It takes you another few moments before you realize that she's probably asking how you've been dealing with the breakup, and you swallow nervously.

"I'm... I mean, yeah. I'm fine."

You took too long answering her question, and you can tell she's doubting your answer in the worry hidden behind her eyes.

"Fine?" she repeats.

"_Yes, _Santana," you try to laugh it off. "I'm fine."

"Just fine?" she says once again, and you know you've screwed it all up already because she obviously isn't believing you.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to distract her.

"I mean... are you seeing anyone?"

The question comes out of nowhere, and you're surprised for a moment. _Seeing _anyone? The idea seems so ridiculous to you, knowing how in love with her you still are. But then again, Santana has already moved on. She probably wouldn't understand why you're not ready to see other people yet. You guess that just proves that she's not in the same place as you anymore.

"No..." you admit, and you swear that she looks relieved.

"Okay. But why just fine- why not great?" she goes back to her previous line of questioning.

You're not following her, but you don't want to continue down the path of one of you saying something and the other questioning it, so you decide to respond as best you can.

"Honestly?" you ask, and she nods. You're glad for the look of genuine concern on her face. It encourages you to be more honest with your answer. "I miss you. You were my best friend for so long. It feels weird to not have that anymore."

That's a good enough reason to not be 'great,' isn't it? You're allowed to miss her as a friend, no one can fault you for that. You're just not so sure if you're supposed to still be missing her as a girlfriend, now that she's moved on, but no one but you (and Ani) have to know about that.

She smiles at you for the first time since you've started _talking_, and you feel like you've picked the right words, for once.

"I miss you, too. That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," she states, putting her coffee down on the table resolutely. "If it's okay with you, I was thinking... I was thinking we could maybe try being friends? As long as you'd be okay with it. I mean, if there's no hard feelings here or anything."

Friends. Santana wants to be friends with you. On the one hand, you're happy that she didn't bring you here to call you out on your love for her, or to tell you that she doesn't want to see you anymore. She wants to be _friends_, which means she misses you and wants you back in her life.

You know you should be grateful, but somehow you aren't.

You want so much more than friends from her, but you're not going to tell her so. You want her in your life in any way you can have her. Sure, being friends will be complicated. Especially since it sounds like she only wants to be friends if there's "no hard feelings," which leads you to believe that she won't want to be friends with you if she knows you're still in love with her. You're pretty sure of that. You're not willing to take the risk to find of it that's true by confessing how you feel, though.

If you're going to be friends, you're going to have to pretend to be over her, and you're suddenly not terribly confident in your acting abilities. It'll be worth it just to have her back, you hope.

"That sounds really nice, Santana," you say, smiling as genuinely as you can.

"Really?" The smile on her face grows a little. "You don't think that'd be weird?"

"Well... of course it'll be weird, San," you point out, because how could it _not_ be weird? But weirdness isn't _bad_, it's just different, right? "But I really do miss you so much, I just... I want to be your friend again. Besides, you're dating Emily now anyway, so it's not like it's _that_ weird."

You're careful with your words. You don't want to lie if you don't have to. You're hoping the topic of your feelings for her will never come up if you phrase everything _just_ the right way.

"Right... yeah, you're right," Santana says, after taking a moment to contemplate what you've just said. "So, you're sure you'd be okay with that? Friends, like old times?"

You frown. Something about 'old times' doesn't sound quite right to you. Maybe it's because the last time you were _just_ friends was practically before puberty, and you're not sure that she remembers that.

"Maybe we should try to keep the past out of it," you suggest. "Maybe we should just start with the new times and build from there."

She looks confused, and you hope you haven't offended her. It's not that you didn't _like_ what you'd become, _obviously_, but you don't think it's something you could go back to if you and she are going to be just friends.

Even when you had first met, you knew there was something special about Santana. It was the reason that you trusted her so much right away, the reason why you grew close faster than you have with anyone else in your life. You're not allowed to love that specialness the same way anymore, though.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't want things to be awkward between us, San," you explain. "I don't want all the baggage, I just... want you." She smiles shyly at this, and it encourages you to keep going.

"I want my best friend from seventh grade who I used to watch Gilmore Girls with, who let me paint her nails with every ridiculous color I could buy for 99 cents at the pharmacy. Those are the old times I want. I want _us_ back, before all of the relationship stuff."

"That's pretty far back," Santana says, the smile dropping from her face. She looks concerned, and you're worried that you've said something wrong. Maybe she doesn't want the same thing. Or maybe she doesn't think that it's possible. You rush to assure her that it is.

"I know," you reply nervously. "Which is why I think we should start fresh, and maybe we'll work our way back to there. And I think it'd be easier, for me at least. Do you not want that?"

You hope she doesn't read too much into you saying it'd be '_easier_.' It kind of implies that you'd be having a hard time of it in the first place. You have a feeling you're not going to be very good at pretending you no longer have feelings for her if slip-ups like these are happening within the first five minutes of your rediscovered friendship.

"No, no, I want whatever you want."

_No, you don't. I want to be with you._

You know you won't be able to hold your tongue, so you just smile at her and take another long sip of your coffee. By the time you're done, she's asking you another question.

"So. How was the tour?"

You shrug, because there wasn't really anything worth telling. You danced a lot, and you partied a lot, but mostly you just missed her, and you can't tell her about that.

You can't tell her about the nights you cried yourself to sleep, or the times you typed out long messages to her only to save them as drafts and delete them later.

You can't tell her about the time Ani found you in the bathroom, tears streaking down your face, because you heard _that_ song on the radio. You spent the rest of the night in tears, telling Ani every heartbreaking detail of your relationship.

You can't tell her that, as good as Ani is to you, she doesn't really _understand_ you. She gives you weird looks when you make jokes. She doesn't laugh, and sometimes you end up explaining them to her just to make sure she doesn't think you're too weird. She doesn't hug right, either (her arms fall below yours, and you find yourself awkwardly clinging to her neck). You miss Santana's hugs more than you care to admit.

"It was really... busy," you lie, and she raises an eyebrow.

"Busy? You go on tour with Britney Spears and all you have to say is that it was busy?"

"I was kind of distracted," you try to brush it off, hoping that she'll catch on without prying any further. She does, her playful smile dropping.

"Oh. Was it- ... never mind. Did you make friends?" she changes the subject, and you're glad. Especially because the change is towards something that makes you seem a little less sad and pathetic.

"Yes, actually!" you reply enthusiastically. "My friend Ani, she lives in New York too! She's already gone on another tour, but we're definitely going to hook up the next time we're in town at the same time."

She smiles back at you, but it's small, tight.

"That sounds good, Britt. I'm glad."

She doesn't sound very glad, and you don't know what to make of that.

It feels like you're talking to a stranger, the words are so unnatural and limited. It's so _stupid_, because here she is, offering herself as a friend to you, and you can't manage to say one thing without thinking about how much you love her or miss her.

"Enough about what I've been doing. What have you been up to?" you ask.

You decide to change the topic because Ani was really the _only_ good thing to come out of your tour, and you don't want to be faced with the decision to either tell her that or to lie to her even more.

"I've been good," she responds. "Going out with friends a lot, I guess. Working, school. You know, the usual."

You do know the usual. You know her entire routine and you can't help but wonder if Emily has completely replaced you in it. Are they there, yet? How long have they been dating? Are they in love?

"Sounds mellow. I'm kind of jealous," you comment, and she nods, still wearing the same tight smile. You can tell that she's uncomfortable with the awkwardness, too.

"So... how did you and Emily meet?"

You don't know what makes you ask the question. You suppose it's because everything is so already awkward that you might as well get the topic out of the way while you can. It's not as if you can just go on knowing _nothing_ about the girl Santana is dating, after all. You're filled with dread at the thought of officially meeting her, though you're sure it's bound to happen if you're going to be involved in Santana's life again.

"We've had a few classes together over the years," Santana answers vaguely, though it's definitive enough for you to understand her meaning.

"Oh... so you knew her when-"

"I thought we were starting fresh, Britt," she cuts you off, frowning. "But yes, I knew her then."

She knew Emily when you were away at tour, and that makes you uneasy. You know Santana would never have cheated on you, but you're still upset by the suddenness of your breakup, that you can't help but wonder if... No, Santana would never have done that to you. You're sure of it.

"That's nice. I'm... happy. For you. I'm glad you're happy," you finally reply. Her brow furrows further and the frown remains on her face. "... you are happy, right?"

"Yeah. I'm happy," she answers, and when her eyes find yours again they're guarded.

"Then I'm happy," you affirm, and she visibly relaxes. You don't want to know why that topic made her so uneasy, but you're happy to let it go.

She presses a button on her phone that makes the screen light up, and sighs.

"Listen, Britt, I know this sucks, but I actually have a class in a half hour that I really can't be late for."

"No, no, it's my fault for being so late in the first place. I'm sorry about that, again."

She starts to stand up, and you follow suit.

"You can make it up to me," Santana says as she walks slowly towards the door. She throws her empty cup in the garbage before turning to face you.

"Yeah?" you ask, because you're not sure what she means and you don't want to push the boundaries of your friendship with flirtatious banter.

"Yeah," she affirms, nodding. "I'm supposed to be going to Rachel's tomorrow night for dinner. We're meeting her new boy-toy, and I'm totally dreading how awkward it's all going to be. You should come!"

She sounds so excited, but the idea of it makes you nervous. What if Emily is there? Would it just be Rachel, her new boyfriend, Santana, and Emily, with you tacked on as an awkward fifth wheel? Is there even such a _thing_ as a fifth wheel?

"Oh, no... I wouldn't want to intrude-"

"Please. You know she'd be ecstatic to see you. Kurt, too! Besides, you were always way better than me in these situations, you know?"

You haven't seen Rachel since you got home, and you're sure she'd be excited that you and Santana are repairing your broken friendship. And if Kurt's going to be there it won't be _too_ terribly awkward for you, even though you haven't really spoken since the whole breakup debacle.

"Alright, alright," you finally give in, and your heart races at how happy she looks that you've agreed to come. "What time?"

"I don't know yet," she answers. "I'll text you with details later, okay?"

She's going to text you, which means you're going to get to talk to her even more between today and tomorrow. You're nodding eagerly before the words are even out of her mouth.

"Yeah, that sounds great."

She smiles and takes a step backwards towards the door. You begin to trail behind her awkwardly, unsure whether or not your conversation has ended.

"Santana?" you call her name just as you both get outside, and she stops her movement, turning back towards you.

"Yeah?"

Your heart flutters nervously, knowing you may be pushing limits with what you're about to ask.

"I know we're starting fresh, but... can we still be the kind of friends who hug each other goodbye?" you say nervously.

She breaks into a grin at your words, laughing lightly.

"Of course, Britt. Come here," Santana says, her arms reaching out to wrap around you. Your arms fall around her torso, and you squeeze her gently, glad to be receiving a _proper_ hug for the first time in months.

The hug lasts for a few seconds, and just when you think she's about to pull away she holds you tighter against her, her fingertips sinking into your skin. You feel her sigh against you, and when she finally does pull away there's a small but _real_ smile on her face and you feel like blushing even if you don't understand why.

"I'll talk to you later," she says, smile unfading.

"Yeah," you reply, taking a step in the opposite direction. "Bye!"

She gives a small wave before turning to walk away. Your eyes don't leave her until she turns the corner, and you finally start the walk back to your apartment when she disappears from view.

* * *

You don't know what to do with yourself once you get home. You spent all day building yourself up for your meeting with Santana that, now that it's passed, you still can't get your mind off of it.

You're going to be friends with Santana.

You're going to text each other and call each other. You'll talk on a regular basis; you'll know what's going on in her life, and she'll care about what's going on in yours.

You'll throw a small dinner party and invite her and Rachel and Kurt. Maybe she'll be the first to arrive, holding a bottle of wine in one hand when she knocks on your apartment door. Maybe you'll pour you each a glass before sitting on the couch to catch up on your lives. Maybe she'll sit in the chair across from you. Maybe she'll sit next to you, her knees brushing against your own every few minutes.

You'll go see Rachel's shows together, and make fun of the weird faces your friend makes while singing, snickering together in the back row. People will turn and shush you, and you'll laugh louder. Rachel will roll her eyes at you afterwards, but affectionately, because she really _does_ appreciate the support you give her.

Maybe you'll start spending a lot of time around Emily. Maybe you'll learn to like the girl. After all, if Santana likes her, she can't be _that _bad, can she? Maybe you'll be friends with her too, eventually.

Or maybe they'll break up and you'll have to be the one Santana comes crying to when she's heartbroken over someone other than you. Maybe you'll have to be the one to hug her and wipe her tears away. She'll apologize for getting snot all over your nice shirt and you'll tell her that it's okay, she's worth more than the shirt to you. She'll make a comment about looking like a crazy mess and you'll tell her you think she looks beautiful. Maybe it'll be awkward. Maybe it'll make her blush. Maybe she'll smile shyly before leaning in to kiss you.

You're going to be friends with Santana, no matter what it entails, and the more you think about it the more excited you get.

* * *

**A/N: **I hope this wasn't too terribly boring for you guys! I had a really tough time with this chapter (probably made obvious by how long it took me to update). I kind of ended up just saying _fuck it _and going with my instincts, because I didn't want to keep you guys waiting for too much longer.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the Brittana interaction. Leave a review and tell me what you thought!

**iam-your-opus . tumblr . com**


	7. Chapter Seven

**A/N: **This has taken forever, and I'm sorrrry. I don't really have a good excuse except for the lack of inspiration Glee has been providing as of late. I've had this pretty much done for a week and have been fussing with it, and it feels like I'm kind of beating a dead horse at this point, so I'm just gonna go for it and post it.

Thanks to everyone who has sent me a message or left a review the past few months, bugging me to keep writing. It really helps more than I can explain! Thank you for your patience. Also thanks to Ella and Dorrie (like, every day) for pestering me to update. Dorks. ;)

Reviews are, as always, appreciated :)

**iam-your-opus . tumblr . com**

* * *

Santana

* * *

You're meeting Emily during her lunch break. You haven't spoken to her outside of a two minute phone call and a few random text messages since your date the other day, which ended rather abruptly.

You texted her this morning after tossing and turning all night, trying to decide what to tell her about Brittany. She doesn't know much about your ex, after all. She knew that you were coming out of a bad break up when you first started hanging out with her and her friends, but you haven't ever had a one-on-one conversation on the subject. Everything she knows, she knows from your drunken ramblings to the group, and you're not sure whether or not that's a good thing.

You've decided that you need to at the very least tell her that you're _seeing_ your ex, even if it is just on a strictly friendly basis. You don't want to lose her, after all. She's almost exactly what you're looking for right now. Emily is willing to take things at whatever pace you set, and you know that there aren't many girls out there like that. She's someone you can see casually, who can distract you from Brittany without expecting something deeper. Someone you can hope to eventually move on with.

She stands up when she sees you approaching. Her menu is sitting closed on the table, and two iced teas sit in front of her. You feel bad for keeping her waiting, and rush forward to greet her.

"Hey!" she exclaims, and you find a smile easily rising to your face. "Glad you could squeeze in the time to see me."

Her arms circle around your back and she pulls you in, pecking you lightly on the lips before returning to her seat. Her hand finds yours once you settle down, and she holds onto it lightly.

"Yeah, about that. I'm sorry I've been so…" you trail off, struggling to find the best way to finish your thought.

"It's fine," she insists before you can finish your sentence, and you're relieved to find that you believe her. One of the great things about Emily is that she isn't an uptight or clingy girlfriend. Your relationship with her has been easygoing from the start. She makes you feel comfortable. She makes you smile. Sometimes, you even think that she makes you happy.

"How was your day?" you ask, hoping that you don't sound like you're being too formal. Emily isn't as good as Brittany at reading your emotions, but she still knows you pretty well at this point. If you're acting off, she'll notice.

She shrugs her shoulders, and you watch as her smile falters. "You know, the same old," she says. Emily has always hated her work. Many of the nights that you spent in bars with her and your friends in the past months were after she had a tough day on the job. (You were always happy to try to offer to relieve some of her tension.) "How've you been?"

"I've been... busy," you decide.

She quirks an eyebrow at your unusual choice of words. "That sounds like something I should hear more about."

"I got coffee with Brittany yesterday," you explain quickly. You expect her to have at least _some_ reaction, but you're confused when she just nods in acknowledgment.

Sure, she doesn't know all that much about your and Brittany's relationship, but she does know that Brittany was your only serious girlfriend, and the circumstances of your breakup. You'd expect her to seem at least a little bit jealous, but instead she surprises you by smiling.

"That's great! She's back from her tour then?" Her interest seems genuine, and you find your stress about the whole situation dissipating.

You nod. "Yeah, she got in a few weeks ago I think."

"How long is she staying for?"

You shrug. You don't want to seem too invested in whatever Brittany is doing, even if Emily doesn't seem to be bothered very much by your relationship with your ex. "A few months."

"That's good," she comments, before turning her attention back to the tea in front of her. Part of you just wants to let it go, but the adult in you knows that you should really be having a conversation about this.

"You're okay with me seeing her, then?" you ask, and she surprises you once more by laughing.

"Santana… Look, I trust you. I'm not the jealous type, anyway. And even if I were, I doubt anything I say could keep you from seeing her," Emily says, chuckling.

You're not sure whether or not to take offense to her pointing out your stubbornness. "What do you mean?"

"She was a huge part of your life for a while, Santana. I don't expect that to just stop because you broke up. It's good to be friends with your exes."

You're beginning to realize that maybe you revealed more about your relationship with Brittany during those drunken nights than you had originally thought. Maybe Emily doesn't know the extent of your feelings towards Brittany, or the fact that you've been together practically your entire, but she understands how much she means to you without all of that.

"I'm really glad you feel that way," you say with a relieved sigh.

She smiles softly at you for a moment before changing the subject. "So, are you busy tonight? There's this show at the theater down the block from work. I was thinking maybe we could get dinner and go see it?"

You bite your lip, trying to decide if you should tell her that you can't make it tonight because you're having dinner with Brittany. Emily seems fine with everything, but you don't want to give her reason _not_ to be, especially not so soon.

"I'm sorry, I can't. I promised Rachel I'd come meet her new boy tonight," you say, trying to sound annoyed as you roll your eyes. She smiles sympathetically at you, and you feel a twang of guilt. _It's not a lie, _you justify. _It's just not the entire truth._

"Oh. Alright then." You can tell she's disappointed, but she's still smiling, so you know it's not too serious.

"Maybe I can make it up to you?" you offer. "How long is the show running?"

She shakes her head. "This is the last weekend. It's fine, it's such short notice, don't worry about it. I'm sure I can dig up someone to come with me anyway."

You talk for a few more minutes before she glances at her watch, sighing when she sees the time.

"Shoot, I have to go, my break is almost up. Call me tonight, okay? After Rachel's?"

You nod, smiling up at her as she stands to leave. She kisses you firmly on the lips and you grin at her before leaning in to kiss her again, lighter this time. Your eyes begin to follow her as she walks away, but you're distracted by a sudden buzzing in your pocket.

It's a text from Brittany.

_Hey, we still on for tonight? I can't wait to see everyone! :) _

You glance up once more, but Emily's already out of sight. Grinning, you look down at your phone.

_Definitely. Seven o'clock. See you there!_

* * *

"I just hope you two like Eric," Rachel sighs anxiously from her spot at the stove. She's been fussing around the kitchen for the past half hour, determined to make sure that everything is cooked to perfection.

"Anyone has to be better than the last mongrel you brought home," you say in an attempt to be reassuring. You quickly learn that that your efforts have failed when Rachel whirls around, spoon in hand, frowning at you.

"Santana! Don't talk about him like that. He wasn't a '_mongrel_,' he just… had a very unique way of thinking about things," Rachel reprimands. You can hear the hurt in her voice, and you feel a little bad for it, but it isn't _your _fault that Rachel chooses to bring home such easy targets.

You and Kurt glance at each other, and you're happy to see the knowing smirk on his face. You're sad to say that Rachel's taste in men hasn't improved much since high school. She's brought home boy after boy after boy, each of which you and Kurt have disapproved of. She won't listen to your advice on the matter, even though she insists on having each of them over for what she likes to call a "screening" process. You're pretty sure her latest date will be no different from the others, but you hold your tongue.

"Santana and I promise that we will be on our best behavior," Kurt says, wrapping an arm around you as you nod in agreement. It seems to calm her. She turns back to her cooking, and you're relieved to no longer feel her glare on you.

"So, what time did you tell Emily to arrive?" Rachel asks from the stove.

You hesitate to answer, pulling away from Kurt's embrace to face him. "Actually… Emily won't be joining us tonight." They both turn to you when you pause, looking at you expectantly. "Brittany will."

"Brittany?!" Rachel asks, sounding thoroughly scandalized.

"Yes, Brittany. Remember her? Tall, blonde, my best friend since middle school?" you retort, trying to seem nonchalant about it. You can tell by the unamused expressions on their faces that neither of them are buying it.

"We're not the ones with the memory problems here. Did you forget that you were crying on our couch not three days ago because you ran into her and it was, and I quote, '_awful_?!'" Kurt asks, making air quotes as he mimics you.

"I was not _crying," _you say, but neither of them look convinced. You sigh. "We met up for coffee yesterday. We talked things out."

"You 'talked things out' with your ex over coffee?" Kurt repeats, disbelievingly.

"Why didn't you _tell _us?!" Rachel asks, offended.

"Because, I didn't want either one of you making a bigger deal of this than it is. Like you are, right now. And don't try to argue with me, because you know it's true."

"Make _what_ a bigger deal, exactly? What's going on between you two?" Kurt asks.

"Nothing," you say, shrugging. You force yourself to meet his eyes, knowing he'll see how uncomfortable he's making you if you act anything less than natural right now. You don't want to know where that line of questioning would lead. It's not as if you feel _guilty_ about your plans for your friendship with Brittany, exactly. You just know that it's the sort of thing that will get more complicated the more you think about it. "We're friends."

"Friends?" comes his quick reply.

You roll your eyes, beginning to feel annoyed with the situation. "Yes, friends. _You're _the one who suggested it," you point out.

He sighs. "Yes, but I distinctly remember saying that you could be friends _eventually. _I wasn't implying that you should jump right into anything."

"We're just… we're worried about you, Santana," Rachel says, her voice dripping with sickeningly sweet concern. "We don't want to see you get hurt when she leaves again."

"It's just dinner, you two. And I'm trusting you to _not _make it awkward."

"If it's just a dinner, then where's your girlfriend?" Kurt asks, his tone gentler than before.

You shake off the guilty feeling gripping at you. "She was busy," you lie.

Kurt tilts his head to the side, squinting at you skeptically, and you're pretty sure he's about to call your bluff when you hear the doorbell chime.

You quickly move towards the door, eager to get away from the awkward conversation, but apparently your friends have similar notions. Rachel gets there the fastest, flinging the door open excitedly to reveal Brittany. The blonde jumps backwards at the suddenness of it, taking a moment to look between the three of you awkwardly before cracking a smile.

"Hey!" she says, and you wonder if she can sense the fact that you were just talking about her just moments before. "I brought wine?" She holds up a large bottle as proof.

Kurt is the first of you to snap into action. He wraps his arm around her, ushering her inside. "Brittany! Welcome, welcome! Come inside—"

"Here, let me take your coat—" Rachel walks up behind her, tugging her jacket off her shoulders before she gets the chance to do it herself.

Kurt's arms are immediately around her once she's free from Rachel, and she squeals as he squeezes her tightly. "It's so good to see you!"

"We've missed you _so_ much." Rachel's hugging her now too, and you stand back watching them fawn over her. She smiles back at them, but you can tell she's overwhelmed by their reactions. You want to smack the both of them for being so damn awkward about everything.

"Hey, San," she interrupts your thoughts, walking towards you. You tense when she wraps her arms around you, briefly recalling the end of your conversation yesterday when Brittany had decided you should be the type of friends who hug each other goodbye— you guess the same goes for hello, too then. Your arms come up around her automatically, pulling her into you, and you know you're probably grinning like an idiot by the time you pull away. Kurt and Rachel exchange a sideways glance.

"Long time no see, stranger," you say, delighting in the way she smiles back at you.

"My sauce!" Rachel's screech fills the hall, making the two of you jump apart. She shoves Kurt out of the way as she rushes towards the kitchen, picking up an oven mitt to swat at the smoke rising from her pot.

"As you can see, not much has changed," Kurt deadpans as he walks by you.

* * *

Rachel's date arrived about twenty minutes ago.

He's not bad looking; he's certainly not your type, but that's not really saying much. He's boyish and dopey and right up Rachel's alley when you think about it. He keeps giving you small glances like he's terrified of you, and you're glad for that. Rachel's last boyfriend was constantly trying to challenge you on everything you said, which was just ridiculous coming from someone as dense as he was.

You've been making pleasant conversation for the past twenty minutes while Rachel bustles in and out of the kitchen. Kurt's been interrogating Eric since he stepped through the door. Even you have to admit that the more the guy reveals about himself, the more you like about him.

"So, tell us how the two of you met?" Kurt asks when Rachel settles on the couch next to him. You're surprised by how genuinely interested he looks, considering the fact that Rachel has recounted every detail of their relationship to you multiple times since it began.

"Well, we have acting class together," Eric begins. "Our professor assigned us to do a kissing scene together, and—"

"He was so nervous he messed up nearly all of his lines," Rachel interrupts. "I thought it was just from stage fright, but—"

"But afterwards she came up and tried to give me a talk about performing in front of live audiences, and I explained that it wasn't our classmates watching that was getting me all worked up, it was getting to do a scene with Rachel Berry."

Eric smiles dreamily at Rachel, and she grins back up at him, grabbing his hand and clasping it in her own. You kind of want to gag, but Kurt is clearly impressed with the story, and Brittany is smiling sweetly at the couple from next to you on the couch.

"That's great. Don't you just love a good romance?" Kurt sighs, looking nearly as happy as Rachel as he reaches for his wine.

Eric nods, turning in his seat to face you and Brittany. "So how did the two of you meet? How long have you been together?"

Kurt makes a noise that sounds a lot like choking as he pulls his wine glass suddenly from his lips. Rachel's eyes go wide as they flash between you and Eric, and you can practically feel the panic behind them.

The correction is on the tip of your tongue, but you can't seem to force yourself to say it. Instead you take in a long breath, staring down at your feet.

"We're— we aren't together," Brittany is the first to respond after a few long beats have passed. "Not anymore, anyway," she laughs, trying to lighten the situation. It doesn't seem to work; a heavy silence falls over the room.

You know that you're probably making this more awkward than you should be, but you suddenly wish you were anywhere but in that room. You're afraid to look up. You don't want to see the look on any of their faces, on _her_ face. After all, Brittany has always worn her emotions on her sleeve. It wouldn't take a genius to figure out what she's thinking. She might look sad, still upset over your breakup. If she isn't over you yet, you couldn't continue your plan to be friends with her— the last thing you want is to hurt Brittany more than you already have. But she might even look happy. She had tried to make a joke out of it, after all. Maybe she's happier without you in her life. Although you doubt that that could be true, the thought sinks heavily against your heart.

You try to shake it off as you stand up, knowing that you're being ridiculous. You force yourself to glance at Brittany, only to see that she's staring blankly into the bottom of her wine glass. You can't get a read on what she's feeling, which you find scares you most of all.

"I, uh… I'm going to go get some more wine," you say, excusing yourself. "Anyone else?"

Four empty wine glasses shoot into quickly the air. Rachel stands up, collecting them. "I'll come with you," she offers.

You nod tersely, because now you're going to have to have an awkward conversation with Rachel Berry that you'd rather avoid if it's at all possible. It isn't; you've barely stepped into the kitchen when she turns on you, worry etched deeply into her brow.

"Santana, I am so, so sorry," she says, her voice turning up at the edges the way it does when she gets worked up over something.

"It's fine," you reply shortly. You're not getting into this with her, not here, not now. Besides, you know your anger is misplaced. It's not like it's _her _fault her idiot boyfriend brought up an extremely sensitive topic in the middle of small talk. It's not her fault that you and Brittany aren't together. And it certainly isn't her fault that you're still in love with Brittany, despite the months since your breakup.

You're hoping that she'll allow you to just dismiss it and continue with the wine consumption, which is sure to help relieve the awkward tension more than a longwinded apology from Rachel. She doesn't, of course.

"No, it's not, I just— I had told him that you'd be coming with your girlfriend, and you told us so last minute about Brittany joining us this evening," she explains. You sigh, because how can you be mad at her (or her idiot boyfriend) when the whole thing is really your fault. If you hadn't been hiding Brittany from your friends, none of this would have happened in the first place. "I got so caught up in making everything perfect that I didn't even think to tell him about-"

"Rachel, calm down," you raise a hand, looking her seriously in the eye. Her mouth closes shut so quickly it's almost comical. "It's really no big deal. I'm fine. I'm sure Britt's fine. We're both over it already."

Rachel leans against the counter, resting her head wearily against her arms. You leave the conversation there, glad for the silence. You're pouring wine into the fourth glass by the time she speaks up again.

"God, that was mortifying," you hear her grumble.

"More for him than anyone else," you chuckle. You enjoy a little teasing here and there, but you almost feel genuinely bad for the girl. Almost. "But don't worry, he's a big boy. He'll get over it."

"You think so?" Rachel is looking at you with large eyes now, and you remember how nervous she was earlier for tonight.

You give her a reassuring smile. "Definitely. Help me with these glasses?"

* * *

The rest of the evening goes much more smoothly. By the time you go back into the living room, the awkward silence seems to have lifted, and Eric and Brittany are laughing at something that Kurt has just said. Brittany has moved across the room to sit next to Kurt, and you feel a twinge of sadness as you take a seat alone on the couch.

The dinner that Rachel cooked actually ended up being delicious. You never eat much of her cooking because you don't like any of that vegan shit, but she convinced you just this once to try some and you were pleasantly surprised. Not that you'd ever admit that to her, anyway, but maybe next time she offers you some of her weird coconut ice cream, you might take her up on it.

Eric excuses himself almost immediately after dinner, saying that he has class early tomorrow. Rachel blushes when he kisses her on the cheek before waving goodbye to the rest of you, and you have to say, you kind of approve.

"So…" Rachel turns to face the three of you once the door has shut behind him. "What do you think?"

"He's just wonderful!" Kurt exclaims. He grabs at her hands, pulling her into the seat next to him.

"He's certainly an improvement," you offer, and Rachel grins, knowing that that's the closest you'll probably get to admitting to liking the guy.

"Well, I liked him. He's tall and he kind of looks really confused all the time, but he's super nice and he tells good jokes," Brittany adds.

Rachel smiles warmly at her. "Brittany, it's so good to have you back. We've missed you so much."

"I missed you guys too," she replies, and you swear you see her eyes flash towards you, if only for a second.

"So, tell us all about it!" Kurt says, but Brittany dismisses his excitement with a shrug.

"There's not much to tell. Touring is like, crazy busy. I barely had any time for anything," she explains.

"So, no new friends then?" He asks, and you can tell he's dying to ask a slightly different question. You're glad he doesn't, even though you know that she already told you she's single. You send him a warning look nonetheless; you told him you didn't want things to get awkward, and going down _that_ road definitely wouldn't help at all.

"Actually, I did meet this one girl!" Kurt's eyes dart to you worriedly, but you shake your head. "She's really cool. She's from New York, actually. She's off on another tour now, though, so I won't see her for awhile."

"You guys are close, though?" he pushes, and she nods.

"Yeah, she helped me a lot with—" Brittany stops suddenly, and you wonder where she was about to go with that sentence. "Well, she was just… She's a good friend," she finishes, nodding, and Kurt smiles at her.

"That's great, Brittany. So, what's next? Another tour? Back to school?" Rachel asks.

"I have two months, and then I'm off again for another year," she says, prompting a pout from Rachel.

"Well that's too bad. We're just going to have to see each other lots during these next two months then, right?"

"I'd like that." This time you swear you can feel your eyes on her, and when you look up, you find her staring at you. She smiles when your eyes meet, and you can't help but smile back at her.

"Hey, Britt? Mind giving me a hand in the kitchen?" Kurt asks, standing suddenly. "Rachel's made some delicious brownies and I just can't wait any longer."

Brittany looks startled, but she nods anyway and stands, following Kurt into the kitchen.

"What was that all about?" you ask once they're gone. Rachel turns to you, a worried look on her face.

"What are you doing?" she asks, and you furrow your brows.

"What do you mean?"

"Well she's obviously still in love with you," she says, her voice dramatically hushed.

"What?!" You glance quickly towards the door that Kurt and Brittany disappeared through moments before. You rewind the evening in your mind, trying to find anything that would cause Rachel to believe that Brittany is still in _love_ with you. Feelings? Maybe. But _love_? "Don't be ridiculous. Brittany isn't in love with me, we just… we have a connection, okay? And that's never going to go away, whether we're soul-mates or best friends, so back off."

Rachel sighs, pursing her lips as she looks at you. "Santana, I don't know… I myself am quite familiar with unrequited love and the looks she's been giving you all night, well… let's just say, Kurt and I are in agreement here."

Your lip curls as you realize that this means that Kurt and Rachel were most likely talking behind your back this evening. And if Rachel is in here confronting you, that means that Kurt…

"You're crazy," you respond. Brittany has been all smiles since the moment you've reconnected. You don't act like that around an 'unrequited love.' She was even supportive when you told her about you and Emily dating. Your eyes flash towards the hall to the kitchen worriedly, trying to figure out how long it's been since Kurt and Brittany left. "What're they doing in there?"

They've been in the kitchen for what feels like a few minutes, now, and you begin to worry. You don't want to put Brittany in this position. No matter what her feelings for you are, this sort of questioning is enough to make anyone feel uncomfortable. You hate the thought of Rachel and Kurt scaring her off for the short time that she's home.

You stand, excusing yourself to go check on them. Rachel calls after you, but you ignore her.

You pause outside the doorframe when you spot them standing next to the counter. Kurt's hand is on Brittany's back, and although you can't see her face, you can tell by the slump of her shoulders that she isn't happy about whatever they're talking about. Part of you is dying to eavesdrop, but you're also somewhat scared of what you might overhear.

You force yourself to enter, speaking as cheerily as you can. "What's taking you guys so long? Even Rachel is starting to run out of things to talk about in there."

Brittany's eyes snap up to yours, and you're startled by the amount of emotion you find there. She looks… sad, to say the least, along with something else that you can't quite read. Before you get the chance to figure it out, a smile has forced its way on to her face. She grabs two of the plates and moves to stand.

"Sorry about that," she says cheerily. "We were just catching up. I'll bring this out to Rachel."

With that she rushes out of the room, leaving you glaring at Kurt, who seems to be looking anywhere but at you.

"What was that all about?" you ask. He doesn't meet your eyes, turning around to grab a roll of plastic wrap from the drawer.

"What? We were just talking," he shrugs, carefully covering the brownie pan. You frown as he pulls at the edges, fussing for an unnecessarily long amount of time before you finally roll your eyes and step closer to him.

"Kurt, please." He drops the plastic wrap in defeat and looks up at you, sighing. "I know Brittany, and I know that she was upset by whatever you guys were talking about so can we please just skip the threats and violence and get right to the part where you tell me what's going on?"

You want to get a handle on what he told her, to see how much damage control you're going to have to do. The nervous look on his face is doing nothing to inspire confidence.

"I was just— we just talked about how she's doing, you know? And she had a couple of questions..."

You frown. Brittany asking questions about you doesn't sound very good, especially not if Kurt was _answering_ them. "Questions about what, exactly?"

"Well, you, mostly. And Emily."

"What'd she say?"

"I…" he trails off, looking guilty. "Listen, Santana, it wouldn't be right for me to tell you what goes on between me and Brittany in private."

"Well, I don't think it's right for you to talk about me behind my back, either," you snap.

He rolls his eyes. "Santana, stop being dramatic. We weren't 'talking about you behind your back,' we were just—"

"Hey, guys?" You both turn quickly to face the doorway. Brittany is standing there in her coat, looking between the two of you. "I think I'm actually going to get going. Thank you for inviting me, this was really nice."

Your heart sinks. You were hoping to at least get in another hour tonight. Everything had been going so well, too, but now you're pretty sure Kurt and Rachel just made things extremely awkward, and you're not sure how you and Brittany are going to pick back up.

"Well, we hope you can come back again soon, Brittany," Kurt responds, smiling.

"Me too." Something in her tight-lipped smile gives you the feeling that she's lying, but you know you can't address it. She doesn't move to hug you this time, and you have to stop yourself from stepping forward and hugging her, especially given Kurt and Rachel's new theory. If it's true, you wouldn't want to continue your friendship with her at the risk of hurting her. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," you say as she turns away. You wait until you hear the front door click shut before turning to face Kurt.

"Santana—" Kurt tries to begin, but you hold up a finger, effectively cutting him off.

"For one thing, what goes on between me and Brittany is _our _business, understand? Not yours, not Rachel's," you growl, poking him angrily in the chest. "It is between me, and Brittany, and you have no right to come in here and screw this up for me."

"Santana, we weren't trying to—" It's Rachel, now. She must've heard you yelling, because now she's making her way to stand next to Kurt.

"No, you shut up," you cut her off before she even gets a chance to start speaking. You know that once she starts talking there is probably no stopping her, and you can't handle that right now. "If you think there's a problem with how I'm acting, you talk about it to _me_, in private. You do _not_ corner Brittany on the first night that she's back with us to ask her if she's in love with me, or to talk about my relationship, or to do anything but make casual small talk and tell her how much you've missed her."

"That wasn't—" Kurt attempts, but you shut him down.

"You do not get to come in and tell me how to live my life. You do not get to come in and mess with our friendship. Brittany has been my best friend since sixth grade. I am trying to fix whatever is left of that, and if you just fucked that up for me I swear to god I am going to skin you both, comprende?"

"Santana…" Rachel sighs. "We're just worried about you, okay? And Brittany, too. You're just… we know how hard this has been for you."

"No, you don't," you growl, and you're glad when you see fear in her eyes. "You don't know what it's like to lose the person who you've grown up with, the person who knows you better than anyone else. Brittany is my best friend. I need her in my life. And if I can't have her here because of some half-baked plan you two came up with while I was in the bathroom, then so help me god—"

"You can't _have _her here because she left you, Santana," Kurt snaps, and you're suddenly out of things to say. "She left for tour, and she's going to do it again in two months. We're just worried that you're going to get yourself hurt. Because, sure, maybe we don't know what it's like to lose someone like that, but we do know what it _looks_ like. We've been here for you this entire time. And we don't want to see what it'll look like if you fall in love with her again and she leaves again in two months, okay?"

Rachel nods next to him, and you have trouble holding either of their gazes. The fight has suddenly gone out of you, which is a feeling you're not all that familiar with. Instead you back away, shaking your head.

"Whatever," you comment quietly, brushing past them as you head for the door. You don't want to face the fact that the reason you no longer feel like arguing with them is because you've realized that they may just be right.

You survived Brittany leaving the first time, but if she's still in love with you too, if something happens between the two of you again, you're not sure how you're going to get over it.


	8. Chapter Eight

**A/N**: Alright, this is kind of on the shorter side. My apologies. It's also not of the highest quality, but that's mostly because I'm still pushing through the writers block. But at least it didn't take me five months this time? :)

I guess you could say Ani's character is based off of Ashley Lendzion, if you're one of those people who needs to have something like that when dealing with an OC. She wasn't made with her in mind, but she reminds me a lot of her, so! Run with that.

Also I just wanna say I love the feedback I've been getting from everyone. Seriously, it makes me really happy to hear how you guys feel. Keep it up!

* * *

Brittany

* * *

"All right, so what do we have?" you ask, clasping your hands together excitedly. Kurt moves over to the counter, where a pan of brownies sits on the cooling rack.

"Grab the ice cream from the freezer for me, will you?" he asks.

You move to the freezer, smiling when you find a container of Rachel's coconut ice cream there— your favorite. You were wary of it the first time she made you eat it (because since when do coconuts make milk? doesn't that come from cows?) but after a little convincing you'd tried it and loved it. No matter how hard you tried, though, you could never get Santana to try it. She was always stubborn like that. You thought it was cute.

"Here you go!" you announce, plopping the plastic tub down besides him.

You sit for a few moments, watching as Kurt begins to cut the brownies.

"So, you and Santana are hanging out again, huh?" Kurt breaks the silence, not looking up from his work.

You've known Kurt for a long time, and you'd like to think you can tell when he's digging for information.

You try to assure yourself that he's probably just Kurt being Kurt, looking for gossip or drama or something like that, but you still can't help but feel a little uncomfortable at his question. You glance back through the door you came through, before nodding.

"That't right," you affirm, and he smiles at you. You try to find comfort in it, but it isn't working.

"How's that going?"

You can't tell if he's asking out of concern for you or concern for Santana, so you're not really sure of how to form your answer. You decide on vague with a shrug of your shoulders. "Fine."

"Who's idea was it?" he asks, and you scrunch your face in confusion.

"Huh?"

Why would he want to know that? Surely Santana must've mentioned your run-in at the restaurant, right? You'd figured that she had talked it over with her friends, and that's how she had reached the conclusion that you could be friends again, because the Santana _you _know wouldn't have gotten there on her own so quickly.

"Who's idea was it to like, you know, become friends again?"

Clearly not.

You want to tell him the truth, to ask how much he knows about the situation, but something about the way he's looking at you makes you feel defensive. "Uh, it was sort of a … mutual thing, I guess."

Kurt sighs. He doesn't seem pleased with your answer. "Listen, Brittany, can I be frank with you?"

You can tell by the way that his lips have tightened into a frown that you aren't going to like what he has to say, but you nod anyway.

"It's just that… Santana has been acting really weird these past few days. She usually talks to us about nearly everything, and she didn't even tell us until tonight that you guys were talking again."

This makes you frown, because why wouldn't Santana want to share the fact that you were rekindling your friendship with her best friends?

"Oh," slips out of your mouth, and his non-comforting smile is back.

"Can you keep an eye on her for us? You've always known her better than anyone, and I just want to make sure that she isn't… she has the tendency to bottle it all up inside, you know? I just worry about her."

It's true, you're sure. Kurt is just looking out for Santana, protecting her. But from what, exactly? You? It's not like you're going to hurt her; you'd never do that.

_You already have_, you remember.

"Yeah, definitely," you agree. "I mean, I don't think there's anything going on but I'll keep an eye out."

You know her better than anyone else. You'll be able to tell if something is wrong.

_You couldn't when it mattered most_.

"Thanks, hun. You know we're worried about you too, right? How have you been?"

It's a loaded question, and you don't know whether or not you should give him a truthful answer.

"I've been… lonely," you decide, and Kurt smiles at you sympathetically. This time it doesn't make you feel uncomfortable, just sort of sad. It's a smile of pity, and you don't want to think about whether or not you deserve it.

"You're going to be okay being friends with Santana?" he asks.

Will you be okay being just friends with the girl you love, watching from the sidelines as she dates someone else? You've done it before… but doesn't that make it so much worse? You've _known_ this feeling before, this inability to be with her, but this time it's your own fault. In the past, you at least had Santana's insecurities to blame. You can't help but feel if you had tried a _little_ harder, been a bit more attentive when you were away…

You sigh, hoping he doesn't notice your pause. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, she has Emily now and stuff," you say, brushing it off.

"That she does."

He doesn't sound too happy about it, and it's unsettling. You hadn't even considered that Emily might not be good for Santana. Watching her date someone will be hard enough, but watching her date someone who is bad for her, who doesn't treat her the way she deserves to be treated? You're not sure you could handle it.

"Is she nice? Emily?" you ask. Kurt looks slightly surprised by your question, and you're quick to explain yourself. You don't want him getting the wrongidea about your feelings towards Santana, after all. "Santana hasn't talked much about her."

He shrugs. "Santana doesn't really ever talk much about her to us either. They spend a lot of time together, and she's been over a a couple of times. From what I can tell, she's a sweetheart. They have fun together, I think."

You don't know whether or not you should take comfort in the fact that she hasn't talked about Emily to her friends. On the one hand, that means it probably isn't anything serious, right? On the other hand, Santana is a very private person; she likes to hold things that are dear to her close to her heart. If she's not willing to share her feelings about Emily with her friends, then those feelings just might be serious.

"Oh, that's good. Do you know how they like, met and stuff?"

Kurt frowns at your question; you've taken too much of an interest in Santana's love life. "Britt, this doesn't seem like the sort of conversation that you should be having with me," he says, confirming your suspicions. "You're friends with Santana now. You should probably ask her."

"I did, but… she didn't give me much of an answer," you explain, hoping that you can get him to talk. "She just said that she's known her for a while."

What she _said_ was that she's known her since you were on tour, when you were still together, but you don't want to make that clarification. You're not trying to imply that you think that the period of time when Santana was dating you and when she was dating Emily had intersected, but Kurt seems to get that idea in his head anyway.

"I don't really know. Britt, I know what you're thinking, and that's not… Santana would never cheat on you."

You know that. That's not what you're asking. You go to shake your head, because you _trust _Santana, but then you stop yourself.

You trust Santana, yes.

But she'd been lonely. She felt abandoned.

She had said that she didn't feel like she was dating anyone, that it felt as if you had left her. She could have gotten over you by the time that you'd arrived back from tour, even if it was just enough to move on with someone else. You can't help but wonder if you really trust Santana, or if it's just that you _want_ to trust her. Your breakup was so sudden it left you reeling, and you'd be lying if you said you hadn't considered that there was something she hadn't been telling you.

She wouldn't even have had to have _cheated_ on you, necessarily. Maybe she just met the girl, and felt a connection to her. Like, soul-mates. Like what you've felt towards Santana your entire life.

You're nervous, now, and the fact that Kurt doesn't know the answer to your question isn't helping. Your thoughts make you feel sick, and you wonder if you'd been subconsciously suspicious of this all along.

"Brittany?" Kurt calls you, and you realize that you haven't given him an answer this entire time.

He's looking at you, a small frown on his face, and he reaches out to pull you into a hug.

"If you're still having a hard time with this, maybe you should give it a bit more time before being friends with her again," he suggests, worry evident in his voice. You resist the urge to pull away from him at his suggestion, instead sighing heavily against his shoulder.

You can't wait any longer to become friends again with Santana. Your life just isn't right without her in it. Not having her at all would hurt infinitely worse than whatever pain you're feeling now. And besides, the pain you're feeling now, you're making up in your head. You don't _know_ that any of this is true. You're probably getting carried away with yourself; you've had a tendency to do that in the past. Santana has never let you down before, so why doubt her now? You're probably just looking for an excuse for all of this to not be your fault.

Still, the sick feeling still stirs deep in your stomach.

"No, I'm really doing okay," you say, and he pulls back to look you in the eye. "Just having an off night I guess," you offer. He looks skeptical, but accepts your answer.

"If you're sure," he says, and you nod.

He smiles at you, and you do your best to smile back at him, but you can barely feel it tugging at the corners of your mouth.

"What's taking you guys so long? Even Rachel is starting to run out of things to talk about in there."

You try not to flinch away from Kurt at the sound of Santana's voice.

You don't know if she overhead your discussion, but if she _didn't_ you certainly don't want to give her cause for suspicion by acting guilty of something. Instead you turn around and give her the same smile you were giving Kurt. Judging by her own too-bright smile, she isn't buying it.

You excuse yourself from the room quickly, grabbing the plates of desert to bring them out to into the dining area.

Rachel is seated at the table, a frown etched deep into her features.

You almost ask what's wrong, almost decide to pretend that everything is all right, when you hear Santana's angry voice coming from the kitchen, and decide against it. You feel like you're going to be sick, Santana is angry, and Rachel is obviously upset over something. You don't think you can sit here and pretend that you don't have a million thoughts running through your head at once.

You don't think you'd be able to fool anyone, certainly not Santana. You need time to sit, to think things through.

You need to leave.

* * *

"So, I have a hypothetical situation for you—"

"All right, shoot."

"So, let's say you're dating a girl. And you go off on a tour, and the girl gets super lonely, and she breaks up with you when you get home. But apparently, she'd been feeling this way for months and not telling you."

"I'm getting the feeling this isn't so much of a hypothetical situation—"

"And then a few months later, you come back to find that she's dating someone new."

"Wait, _what_?!"

"Yeah. So she's dating someone new, and pretty, and it turns out that she knew this person during the period of time when she was unhappy in your relationship and lonely and not telling you about it."

"So you think Santana could have cheated on you?"

You sigh into the phone and try to work out _what_ exactly you're trying to suggest.

You called Ani as soon as you got home, hoping that she would be able to listen to you and help you work out your feelings the way she has been for the past couple of months. You were lucky enough to catch her just before she got into bed. You felt bad and insisted on letting her leave, but she wouldn't hear of it.

"No, it's not that, I just…" You let yourself fall back against your pillows heavily. "Do _you_ think she could have?"

"Brittany, I've never even _met _the girl. I mean, I guess it may feel like it after how much we've talked about her, but I still don't think I can make a call like that."

You slap your hand against your forehead and run your fingers tightly through your hair, feeling stupid for asking a question which she obviously couldn't have the answer to. "Right, you're right. Sorry. I'm sure I'm just… I dunno, being paranoid."

You shouldn't be worrying about this. You weren't, before tonight. So why now?

So what if Kurt didn't know the details of how Santana's relationship with Emily began. He probably doesn't even know a lot about Santana; he just doesn't realize it. Only _you_ really know her. Everyone else knows what she lets them know, what she shows them, but you've always had a way of figuring out Santana on your own.

Ani takes a long pause, and you feel the nerves tightening in your chest despite your thoughts. "Maybe. All I know is, people do some really screwed up things when they're upset and they find pretty much any reason to justify it."

"Yeah…"

That's not what you wanted to hear.

"Look, you know her best, okay? I'm not saying she did or she didn't; I have no idea," she says, picking up on your disappointment. "You know her best, and if your gut feeling is that she'd never do that to you, then I'd go with that."

"You're right. Of course, you're right," you try to assure yourself.

You know Santana really well. Why are you even worried about this? Because of something stupid _Kurt_ said? You're her best friend. You could tell if she was lying to you about something like that. You would've picked up on it that first time that you ran into Santana when she was on her date. Although, she was acting very strangely that day; she was awkward and nervous around you at the restaurant, only to call you a few hours later to invite you out for coffee. Maybe it was Emily's presence that was making her act that way.

Ani breaks your train of thought. "So… Santana, huh? You're going back to that again?"

"We're just being friends," you're quick to insist, and it makes Ani chuckle on the other end.

"Yeah, yeah. I heard she's dating someone new, anyway. But are you sure you can handle that? No offense, but you've kind of been a mess for the past few months."

"Yeah. I mean, I know it sounds crazy, but I've thought about it a lot, and I feel like if we don't do this now then I might lose her."

"Explain."

You forget sometimes that your friend doesn't know much about your life with Santana. Sometimes you find yourself saying things that leave her completely confused.

"We've always been just soinvolved in each other's lives. No matter what was happening, I always knew where she was at, what she was doing. Even when we were having our problems in high school, we still talked. We were still best friends.

"If I leave before we get to be friends again I'm not sure we could make it work. If I let a whole year go by… I could come back and everything could be different. Her life, her relationships… _her. _There would just be so much about her that I wouldn't know and I don't wanna know if we'd be able to deal with that."

"Okay. But still, you're in love with the girl. And don't try to tell me you're not, because I know you better than that by now."

"I'm in love with her," you breathe, and it feels good to say aloud.

"Does she know?"

"No," you answer quickly. You hadn't even _considered _telling her how you feel. Santana would never stand for letting you pine over her. "She can't. She wouldn't feel comfortable with the idea that she might be hurting me."

"That's true, but is it really good to lie to her? I mean, won't she be able to _tell_? Especially if she's dating someone new, I mean… that's gotta hurt, B."

You shrug. Santana spent years being oblivious to how you felt. You think, if you try hard enough, you can get back to that. If it means you get to keep her in your life, you're willing to go to pretty extreme measures. Even if it means lying to her like that.

"No, I don't think so," you say. "She's trying hard to make this work, inviting me over to hang out and everything. I just have to make sure I just… give back what I get, y'know?"

"So you think as long as you seem as gung-ho about the friendship as she does, that she'll go for it?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

You yelp suddenly when your phone vibrates against your ear.

You pull it away, looking down to find a text message from Santana.

_Hey, are you up? _

"Uh, wait— hold on, Santana's texting me," you stutter dumbly, looking at the message in front of you in disbelief. You consider not replying, but figure it must be something urgent if she's texting you so late at night.

"Oh boy," you hear Ani say, but you don't bother to respond as you flip out your keyboard to write back.

_Yea, what's goin on? Is everything ok? _

What reason could Santana possibly have for texting you right now? You _did_ run out rather abruptly earlier, but you would've thought she'd text you right away if she was concerned, not hours after the fact.

_"_What's she want?" Ani asks loudly. You bring the phone back up to your ear.

"She asked if I was awake," you explain, brows furrowed.

"That's it? Huh. That's weird."

She sounds about as perplexed as you feel.

"Yeah, I don't know what— oh, hold on again."

Your face pales when you see the next text waiting for you.

_I'm outside. Can you let me in? Explain once I'm up there. _

"Holy crap, she's outside. She wants to come in and talk to me."

"Wow, showing up at someone's apartment uninvited at half past midnight… sounds serious. Did you say yes?"

"I haven't said anything!" you say, panicked.

"What?! Say yes!"

"But… wait. I-I'm nervous. What if she wants to talk about—"

"Well, look, no matter _what_ she wants to talk about, she's there now. Outside. Waiting for you to buzz her in. I'm pretty sure if you don't respond it's going to look pretty damn suspicious, B."

You take a deep breath to calm yourself. It doesn't work. "You're right, you're right. Okay, hold on."

_Yeah, gimme a min_, you type, your teeth gnawing into your lip nervously.

"All right, okay," you breathe out, trying to steady your racing nerves. "I told her I'd let her in."

"And have you?"

"No, I'm still on the phone with you!"

"Well, I'm hanging up now!"

"Wait, wait. Just… tell me this is going to be alright."

You sound small, and you know that it's silly of you because you actually _feel_ small. You're scared of Santana. You don't think she'd be showing up at your apartment in the middle of the night if it wasn't something serious. Maybe you gave too much away earlier. Maybe Kurt noticed something, said something. Maybe she overheard your conversation with him in the kitchen. Maybe she just looked at you and _knew. _

You still haven't moved from your bed by the time Ani breaks through your thoughts.

"Brittany Pierce," she says, her voice authoritative. "You've performed in front of thousands of people. You've danced alongside Beyonce. The _queen_, Brittany. You can handle a little one-on-one conversation with your ex-girlfriend and lifelong best friend, okay?"

"Okay," you respond. Your voice wavers, reflecting your confidence.

"You'll be fine."

"I'll be fine," you say, stronger this time. You try to shake off your nerves, pushing yourself to stand and start moving towards the front door. "Right, okay. I'll be fine."

"Perfect. Now go get'er tiger."

You laugh in spite of yourself. "Thanks, Ani. I'll call you soon, okay?"

"Okay. Love you, hun. Good luck out there."

You hang up, take a deep breath, and buzz Santana in.


	9. Chapter Nine

**A/N: **Hi! You guys were so super awesome with the reviews and follows that I just had to finish this chapter up super fast. That should happen more often (hinthintwinkwinknudgenudge). No actually you guys are the best, thank you all for reading. I'm going to hopefully be updating a lot more quickly from now on. I've decided to not stress out so much about writing these fics. Writing is supposed to be fun! It doesn't have to be perfect, because I'm still learning how to do this. It's better if I write more, even if it's of lesser quality, than if I get so hung up that I never write anything at all.

So, I apologize if there's any huge style or voice changes. I hope you still enjoy! Leave a review if you have the time.

**iam-your-opus . tumblr . com**

* * *

Santana

* * *

You stand on the sidewalk, looking up at the window. There's a light glowing behind the blinds in the bedroom, meaning that Brittany is probably still up. You don't know whether or not that's a good thing. It's late, and you know you shouldn't be here, but you just couldn't help it. You just _couldn't_ go home after you left Rachel's. You knew that you'd end up staying up all night, fuming over how inappropriate your friends were at dinner. How could they just come in there and throw around those accusations, not only at you, but at Brittany, too?

_Brittany_.

She was clearly upset when she left Rachel's earlier, and you can only assume that it was because of something that Kurt said to her. They were talking about you, after all.

_"She's obviously still in love with you," _Rachel's voice echoes in your mind.

You found yourself replaying the conversations you've had with Brittany in your head over the past few days as you walked. You're sure that somewhere in your exchanges that she _must_ have said that she was over you, right? Even if she didn't say it directly, it was at least implied. She said she was fine. Good. That she's doing okay. The only reason she said she isn't doing _great_ is because she misses your friendship. Not your relationship, your _friendship. _She's happy for you. She wants to start fresh. She _wants_ you in her life. You can't deny her that, can you?

Still, you'd be lying if you said the thought of Brittany still being in love with you is entirely bad. You know it's sick, but you part of you almost wants her to be. It's wrong, it's cruel, but it's true. It's selfish, but for the longest time you didn't know who you were if you weren't Brittany's. You suppose that that was part of the problem. When she left and didn't have time for you anymore, you started to feel like no one. Nothing.

Now you're in love with her still, yes, but your wants run deeper than just the desire to be with her. You long for that old sense of belonging that came with being Brittany's. You miss knowing who you were, no matter how badly it hurt when you lost that identity. Sure, you don't feel like nothing anymore, but you don't know exactly _who_ you feel like. It's unsettling, to say the least.

But no matter how much you want that, you have to force yourself to remember that it isn't right. For you, or for Brittany. You can't be with her anymore, you know that. And if she's still in love with you, you can't let her continue this friendship. You need to let her move on, get over you. You can't let her cling to you, no matter how badly you want her to. It'd be selfish, and it would only end up hurting her.

Between those thoughts, and the burning desire to know _why_ Brittany ran out so suddenly this evening, you found yourself outside of your old apartment building before you even knew you wanted to talk to her.

You text her, and you're relieved when she responds immediately.

She's going to let you in, to let you talk to her, and the relief is quickly replaced with nerves. What are you going to say?

_Sorry for showing up at your home in the middle of the night, I've been walking around the city for hours thinking about you._

_Our best friends think that we shouldn't be near each other._

_Are you still in love with me? _

You must think of over a hundred things by the time you reach the top of the stairwell. You still have no idea what you're going to go with, but you've always been pretty good at thinking on your feet. Besides, if you don't force yourself to act now, you'll be standing out here for hours trying to gather up the nerve.

You raise your fist against the wood of her door and pause, the strangeness of having to knock striking you suddenly.

You felt more at home in the months you spent in this small apartment with Brittany than in any other place you've lived in your entire life.

But your keys no longer fit this door; this isn't your home.

It's Brittany's.

You knock.

She doesn't take long to answer, her head popping around the doorframe as she swings it open.

"Hi," she greets you softly. You watch as she takes you in, checks you over. She's probably expecting you to look panicked, or injured, or _something_ that would explain the suddenness of your visit. You grasp your hands tightly behind your back, trying your best to look composed.

"Hey," you reply. Your voice sounds normal, and you're glad. You look past her and see the familiar colors on the wall, the old pictures hanging off of it. You smile at the sight, and when you look back at Brittany, she's wearing a small smile of her own.

She steps aside, opens the door wider, and ushers you in. Her hand lands lightly on the small your back for the briefest of seconds, as if to guide you through the doorway. You don't mean to, but you flinch. The hand disappears.

At first glance, the hallway doesn't look like its changed too much. It's cleaner, for sure. A single coat hangs on the rack near the door where you used to pile all of your hoodies. There aren't shoes next to the mat, or an umbrella on the floor. But when you look closer, you notice that the pictures on the wall are unfamiliar to you. Gone are the pictures of your seventh grade field trip to the duck farm, or of you and Brittany, mid-celebration, at Nationals senior year. There's a picture of Brittany's sister where your prom photo used to hang, a photo of Lord Tubbington replacing the shot of you kissing Brittany in front of the whole school after she graduated.

You take all this in, pulling your lips between your teeth to keep from frowning. You don't know what you expected. She shouldn't have to stare at reminders of you all the time. You would have certainly done the same in her situation. Yet the way you've just been _removed_, like you never were even there at all, makes you uneasy. When you turn back toward Brittany you find her eyes on you, watching you intently. Her gaze makes you feel that much more nervous, and you find yourself unable to hold it.

"I'm sorry, it's late. If you want I can come back in the morning, or maybe—" the words are tumbling out of your mouth before you know it, but she's quick to silence you.

"No, no!" she says, a little too loudly for the quiet apartment. Her words bounce off of the walls, sounding nearly as out of place as you feel. "It's fine. I wasn't doing anything."

You pause to take in her appearance— sweat shorts and a tank top, her hair pulled back by a cloth headband. Bed clothes, if you had to guess. You trust that she's not lying to you, but at the very least you know you caught her just before she went to sleep. The thought makes you feel guilty when you realize that you don't know her schedule anymore. What if she had to work early the next day? Who are you to come to her house in the middle of the night, demanding to be let in?

"Come on," she says, pulling you out of your thoughts. You trail behind her as she moves towards the living room, your eyes once more returning to the pictures on the wall.

"Do you want anything to drink?" she offers. You shake your head in response, pausing in the doorway.

"You moved the furniture," you note.

If the unfamiliar pictures on the wall in the hallway made you feel uncomfortable, then you don't know how to begin to describe _this _feeling. This living room barely resembles the one you used to share with her. The couch is against the opposite wall. A shag rug now sits in the middle of the room. You're not surprised to see that the pictures of you have been removed from these walls, too.

This is not at all the home you left behind. You're not sure why you were expecting it to be the same, but it still comes as a shock to you how much she's changed it in just a few short weeks.

You turn to face her and swallow thickly. No matter how much the place has changed, you still have memories here.

Moving day. Date nights. Way too many evenings spent by yourself, missing your girlfriend. You're still haunted by the night you left, your mind replaying and replaying the way she crumpled against her luggage, the tears on her face as you broke her heart.

"Is something wrong?" she asks. You must've gotten lost in your thoughts, because she's looking at you strangely. You push away the image, focusing instead on the Brittany here in front of you. Her head tilts to the side as she looks back at you, a curious smile appearing on her face.

"No! No, nothings wrong, I just… thought we might need to talk." Your voice sounds serious, and you watch her reaction as it washes over her.

"Okay," she says uncertainly, her eyebrows drawing together. You know you're acting strangely, so you decide to get right to the point.

"What happened tonight? You ran out of Rachel's pretty fast. Are you okay?"

Her mouth drops open before she responds, her hands coming to her front to fidget nervously.

"Yeah. That was… I wasn't feeling so good," she says. It isn't a lie, but it isn't the whole truth either, and it's definitely not enough to satisfy the curiosity that brought you here at this hour.

You're tempted to joke about Rachel's vegan food making her sick, but the way that she flicks at the hem of her shirt makes you think that your humor wouldn't be appreciated very much right now.

"Oh. Are you feeling better?" you ask instead, your voice filled with concern.

You get the feeling that the source of her sudden illness had less to do with dinner and more to do with the conversation that followed, but you don't want to just ask her that straight out. Not yet, anyway. If she avoids your questions for long enough, you know you won't have another choice.

"Yeah," she answers simply.

You watch as she drops your gaze, her shoulders squaring as she turns away. You don't believe her for a second, and you know she wouldn't have any reason to lie about a stomach bug. She obviously still hasn't recovered from whatever she and Kurt discussed in the kitchen. You just hope that the conversation that she and Kurt had shared very little with the one you and Rachel were carrying in the dining room.

_Brittany isn't still in love with you, _you assure yourself. _She can't be. _

"Listen… about Kurt and Rachel, they just—"

"Why didn't you tell them?" she interrupts you, surprising you with the sharpness of her tone. There's a glint in her eyes that you don't quite recognize, and you shift uncomfortably under her stare.

You blink at her. "I— uh, what?"

"That we we're talking. That we're friends again. Kurt told me that you didn't tell them about it. Why not?"

She sounds smaller on that last part. You realize that the sharpness in her voice isn't from anger, but more likely hurt. Brittany's always disliked the need you have to hide things from everyone, even if they're things that you only shared with her. You can't blame her. After those rough few years in high school, she never wanted to feel like she was something you should be ashamed of again. You guess that applies to your friendship now, too.

"I didn't think that it was that important," you say before you realize just how badit sounds. She doesn't take as long as you to reach that same conclusion, the frown etching deeper into her features the moment the words slip from your mouth.

She doesn't respond, her eyes dropping instead to stare at your feet, and you rush to correct yourself.

"I didn't mean— I meant that I didn't think it was important that they _knew. _I don't tell them lots of things about my life, Britt. I just didn't want to give them the wrong idea. They can just be a bit… _dramatic_ sometimes, you know?"

"I guess," she says. She seems to accept your explanation, but the frown still remains on her face. "But maybe they only act that way because _you_ act like you're hiding something. They know you're lying, so they jump to conclusions."

You're glad to see that she seems a lot less tense now, the darkness fading from her eyes and her shoulders relaxing. If her sudden departure after dinner was as simple as her misinterpreting the fact that you didn't share the details of your friendship with Kurt and Rachel, then that's something you can easily deal with, piece of cake. You almost laugh at yourself for believing Rachel's crazy theory that Brittany is still in love with you. She cares about you, yes, which is why she'd be hurt when she assumed you were dismissing your friendship. But love? No. Brittany has always been upfront about her feelings for you, even at times when you didn't want to know about them. She wouldn't change that now.

"Is that why you left? You were upset that I didn't tell Kurt and Rachel about us?" you ask, ignoring her subtle criticism of the way you handle your friendships. If you had to chose between sharing everything about your life with Kurt and Rachel, and sharing a limited amount of information but having them jump to conclusions all the time because of that, you'd choose the latter every time. They care about you, yes, and they're your _friends_, but they don't understand you the way Brittany instinctively knows how to. You don't think you could even handle having Rachel Berry _that_ involved in your affairs.

You don't want to tell Brittany that the reason you didn't want to tell them was because you didn't think they'd approve.

She shrugs. It's not so much of an answer as it is a dismissal, and it makes you nervous.

"They didn't like, say anything to you?" you press on.

"No," she responds quickly. She sounds upset again, and the hope that you were holding that this would be simple begins to fade. "Why? Was there something to say?"

There was a lot to say. That you're in love with Brittany. That _they_ think she's in love with you. That they think you're crazy for being friends again so soon after your breakup. That they think you're going to fall back in love with her and that she's going to leave you destroyed once again.

You mirror her shrug.

"I wanted to make sure that this— you and me, this is what you really want, right? You're sure about it?"

She pauses for a moment, her lips pressing together firmly when she finally looks at you. "Of course. Are you not?"

You shake your head. You're sure. You're more sure about this than anything. Hell, you won't let yourself be anything _but _sure. You can't afford it. You know that the second that you let doubts start to cloud your mind that things are going to get _way _too complicated. This doesn't need to be complicated, after all. It's only for a few months. A few months of friendship, plain and simple, between two girls who have been friends practically their entire lives. There doesn't need to be anything complicated about that.

"No, it's not that. I just… I don't want to hurt you, Britt. So if any of this is bad for you, I need you to let me know, okay?"

"Why would it be bad?" she asks, and it almost sounds like a challenge. She doesn't want to make this easy for you. You try not to get alarmed by how defensive she's been since you started talking.

"I don't know, Britt. Kurt told me that you were asking about me and Emily, and I just wanted to make sure… I mean, we did only break up a few months ago."

Her face turns stoic at the mention of the breakup, and you know you've said the wrong thing. She still cares about you and your relationship, obviously. But that doesn't mean anything, right? You can still care about your ex-girlfriend and not still be in love with them, especially if you've been their best friend your entire life. A break up will drive pretty deep wedge in a friendship. It'd be a sore topic for anyone in her situation.

She crosses her arms tightly against her chest. "So is that why you're here? Kurt told you what we were talking about?"

You're quick to shake your head. "No, he didn't _tell_ me I just sort of… figured it out," you explain, and you hope that she leaves it at that. It's not far from the truth, anyway. You knew that something was up because of Rachel's own interrogation in the next room. Kurt had tried to lie for her, but there wasn't any way that you were going to believe that Brittany wasn't upset when she left that room, no matter what he said.

"But you just said he _told _you that I was asking about Emily. So which is it?" she asks, her eyes narrowing.

"Okay, yeah he told me about that, but only because I threatened it out of him. I could tell something was up with you, Britt. I was worried." Her eyes soften at that, and you take it as a good sign."Besides, you know how scary I can be. It's isn't his fault."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles, but you can see the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. You're breaking through her defenses, and you decide to take advantage of that.

"So, it was about Emily?" you ask, trying to get back on topic.

She sighs, shaking her head. "No, it was nothing to do with that. I was just curious, really, and I didn't want to ask you because I didn't want you to feel like I was…I dunno, prying or something." She shrugs, and you're relieved to find that you believe her.

"So why did you leave, then?" you ask. As much as you want to continue to find out what exactly she wanted to know about your new relationship, you can't let this question go unanswered. It will nag at you for the rest of your time together.

She chews her lip as she decides how to answer you. "It was all just a bit much, y'know?" she says after a few seconds have passed. "I mean, I missed everyone and all, but it was just a lot to take in at once. I've been away for so long. I'm still trying to get back into the swing of things."

It seems like a copout of an answer, and it has very little to do with what you were just talking about, but you're glad that she's opening up to you anyway. You suppose it's plausible. Kurt is a lot to handle. Even if what they were talking about wasn't upsetting her, the fact that he was trying to get details on her life could have been a bit disorienting.

"We can take it slow from now on, then," you offer. "I don't want to overwhelm you."

"No," she says, her voice firm.

"No?"

"No," she repeats, taking a step closer to you. "I only have two months here. I don't want to waste our time together. I've missed you," she says, and your heart skips a beat. "All of you."

"We missed you too," you respond with a smile, reveling in the way that she smiles back at you. "But you're sure this is going to be okay with you?"

Her smile fades a little, but remains genuine. "Yeah. Don't worry about me, San. I'm a big girl."

"Okay. Just do me a favor?" you ask, and she nods. "Let me know next time you're upset. Talk to me about it. And just… please, let me know if this ever becomes too much for you."

"I will," she says, nodding her agreement.

You squint at her, trying to determine whether or not she's telling the truth. "Promise?"

"Pinky," she affirms, offering up her little finger. You smile, linking it with your own.

"Excellent. Sorry for showing up at here so late. I was just worried about you, you know?"

"That's sweet," she says, a light blush tinting her cheeks, and you shrug dismissively. There's a moment of silence where you stare at each other, your intertwined pinkies hanging in between you, neither of you wanting to pull away.

"Well, I guess I should get going," you say after a few seconds have passed. You squeeze her finger in yours before letting go, your hand feeling empty as it comes to rest next to your side. "I'll talk to you soon?"

She nods enthusiastically. "Definitely," she says. "I'll text you tomorrow so we can make plans."

_Tomorrow_. That sounds good. You're glad that you're not the only one who is eager for you to see each other again.

"Sounds great," you reply, taking a step towards the hall. You've barely moved before she grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you tightly against her. You breathe out as you relax into the way your bodies mold together, your hands automatically circling around her neck. You had forgotten how much you missed her hug when she left without one earlier this evening.

She apparently had missed it too; she holds on to you for a couple of extra beats, her hands squeezing at your shoulders, before she pulls away.

"Goodnight," Brittany says softly.

"Goodnight," you repeat back at her. Her hands still rest against your arms, holding you by your elbows. You're glad to see all the raw emotion that was obvious in her eyes in Rachel's kitchen is gone, now, replaced by the simple glow that's just _Brittany_. You're warmed by that glow the entire walk home.


End file.
